


i would turn the pages back (but time will not allow)

by calicomoon



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: F/M, Kylo and Hux are radio hosts who hate each other always, Modern AU, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rating May Change, Rey just wants the Organa-Solo family back together, Rey works in Han's auto shop, Slow Burn, one phone call to the station at a time
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-28
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2019-04-14 03:57:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14127561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calicomoon/pseuds/calicomoon
Summary: "Thanks for calling in, this is Kylo at The Finalizer. What’s your name?""Yeah, hi. Will you call your father?" she says hotly, completely ignoring his question. "He's miserable over you, you know, and I’m sick of hearing you and your loser friend bicker every afternoon."There is a strangled sort of noise on the other end, and then, "what?"*Rey is determined to get the Organa-Solo family back together, one phone call to the punk station Kylo runs at a time.





	1. Chapter 1

Rey dreads three o’clock.

Normally, Falcon Autos, the auto repair joint at which Rey works, has a very relaxing, lived-in atmosphere. The break room adjacent to her boss’s cluttered office is full of old but comfortable furniture (including an ancient, dinged-up futon that she has been caught napping in on more than one occasion) and walls covered in fading posters of 70’s car ads. Out in the shop proper, classic rock floats from the speakers and turns the cold, dingy space into a cozy, welcoming workstation. All day long, Rey bops her head along to Elton John, or Jackson Browne; right now, it’s the Eagles, the slight country twang and dark warmth of the music soothing the tiny part of her soul that still craves the desert’s heat.

By the pounding, violent drumbeats and wild guitars that break the shop’s lazy calm, however, Rey can tell her most hated time of day has come.

“Can you put on something else?” Rey shouts from underneath the vehicle she’s tending to, after several minutes of the musical torture. “This music is stressing me out.”

She turns her head to look out from under the car, and can see her boss approaching. At least, his boots. “No can do, sunshine. Sorry.”

Rey groans, rolling herself out and glaring up at Han Solo. Gray hair falls over dark brown eyes as he peers down at her, a roguish grin on the handsome face that age still hasn’t managed to wrestle from him. Then his wrinkled hands are on his hips as he considers the vehicle, pointedly ignoring her. “You can’t tell me you like this stuff,” Rey accuses.

He grimaces, waving his right hand in a so-so kind of gesture.

“Yeah, see, exactly,” Rey huffs.

Just then, the aggressive punk tune fades out, replaced by the deep voice of the radio show’s host.

_That was California Uber Allies, by Dead Kennedys, you’re rocking with the crew of the Finalizer on this Tuesday afternoon, with hosts Kylo and Hux. Welcome to the First Order._

Han listens to _The Finalizer_ every afternoon from three to seven without fail. Rey can’t possibly figure out why. Everything they play is entirely _not_ up her and Han’s alley, in-your-face or whiny or cruel, or sometimes all three in one. The hosts don’t even seem to like each other, as far as Rey can tell; she supposes half the fun for their normal audience must be listening to the two of them argue. The same kind of sick delight people get watching a fist fight in public, taking out their phones instead of intervening. Rey doesn’t get it.

“I’m switching it back,” Rey says, but Han lays her head back down and pushes her gently back under the car.

“You’re gonna work is what you’re gonna do. This baby’s gotta be done by 4.”

Rey sighs and continues to work, watching as Han’s boots make their way back into his office. Through the shop, the voices of Kylo and Hux echo.

_For the next hour, we’ll be taking requests, provided that Kylo hasn’t destroyed the switchboard in a fit of rage._

_Yes, the phones are open, and by all means, don’t limit yourselves to only requesting songs. I’ll also accept suggestions of bones in Hux’s body to break._

Rolling her eyes, Rey tunes out the broadcast and gets to work. If Han wants to waste his afternoon listening to these miserable pricks, she’ll let him. She works quietly for a while until she hears a song with a beat she can actually get behind, and starts letting herself listen again; Han must have finally come to his senses and changed the station.

_I believe…_

Rey wiggles a little bit to the tune, as much as she can underneath the car.

_…in HOMICIDE…_

“Okay, that’s it,” cries Rey, rolling her way back out from under the car and storming over to the radio. “I can’t listen to this one more minute, Han…”

But he grabs her wrist before she can change the station. “Kylo is my son,” he mumbles desperately.

Rey blinks, confused. “I thought your son’s name was Ben.”

“He uses Kylo for the broadcast.” Han shuffles a little bit, crosses his arms.

Rey furrows her brow, looking from the radio back to Han back to the radio again, as what he’s said actually hits her. She gapes at him. “That guy’s your _son_?” _Good Lord_. Rey puts a hand on his shoulder, jokingly comforting. “Han. Your son’s an _arsehole_.”

Han doesn’t laugh, though. “Yeah, well.” He runs a hand through his hair, looking utterly helpless for the first time since Rey met him. “I know the music sucks, but…This is how I get to hear from him.”

And just like that, Rey’s heart breaks. She knew Han’s relationships with both his ex-wife and son were strained, certainly. Leia’s stopped down to the shop before, looking regal and yet not out of place in the cluttered shop, and they’ve gotten into rows more than once. But Ben…she’d heard so little about him, she guesses, and now that she thinks of it, the only pictures Han seems to have of him are from when he was young, no older than twelve. She’s not sure why she assumed they were speaking.

_Because you’d speak to Han, if he were your parent._

“Look, kiddo, we can work something out if we need to. It’s no big deal.”

Rey shakes her head. “No, no, it’s fine. I’ll just get earplugs. Your son’s got horrible taste in music.”

Han doesn’t thank her; he just nods his head and wanders back into his office, something heavy and weary about the way he takes each step. She watches as he sits at his desk, rubs at his face, and then turns away from her, back to his work. She stands there dazed for a moment until Kylo’s voice breaks through.

_We’re still taking requests through our website or by phone, from now until four-thirty, you can give us a call at…_

Before she can fully process what she’s doing, Rey’s ducking into the break room and whipping out her phone, dialing the number as Kylo reads it out. She gets a busy signal the first two times, but on the third try…

"Thanks for calling in, this is Kylo at _The Finalizer_. What’s your name?"

"Yeah, hi. Will you call your father?" she says hotly, completely ignoring his question. "He's miserable over you, you know, and I’m sick of hearing you and your loser friend bicker every afternoon."

There is a strangled sort of noise on the other end, and then, "what?"

"Or come visit him, even, I mean..."

"Who is this?" The man on the other end seems to have regained his composure, and Rey is loathe to admit it, but dear God, that deep voice with that stern tone does things to her. "Who am I talking to right now?"

"Rey," she replies automatically. She curses under her breath.

"Rey who? Where are you calling from?"

"Nowhere." God, she's terrible at improvising. She really should have had more of a plan. "None of your business," she corrects, taking care to sound as unkind as possible.

"Well, Rey from Nowhere, I’ll thank you to fuck off," he spits, and the call is disconnected.

Huffing furiously, Rey dials again. This time she only gets the busy signal once.

“Thanks for calling in, this is Kylo…”

“Do you hang up on all of your listeners like that? Or just the ones who remind you to be a decent human being?”

There’s a low, rumbling, angry sound; it takes Rey a moment to realize it’s Kylo, not a wild animal that wandered into the studio. He disconnects again. She doesn’t waste a moment in dialing again, and calls several more times, never seeming to get through to the station. She wonders if perhaps he’s blocked her number somehow until someone finally picks up.

“Thanks for calling in, this is Hux…”

“Tell your coworker he’s an arse.”

The chuckle that escapes Hux is cold and malicious. “I’d be happy to. To whom do I have the absolute pleasure of speaking?”

“It doesn’t matter,” says Rey. “He’ll know who it is.”

“Trust me, without some clarification, I’m _really_ not sure he will. Nevertheless, I’ll pass the message along. Thanks so much for your call.”

Rey hangs up, chucks her phone onto the futon, and heads back into the shop. The moment she gets out of here, she’s stopping by the pharmacy to grab earplugs and never letting herself hear that loser’s voice again. She looks back at Han in his office. He looks so much older to her now. It makes her ache, brings her back to lonely nights out in the desert, looking up at the stars and feeling so small and wanting so desperately to belong to something.

She can’t look at him anymore. She ducks back under the vehicle, trying not to notice how much angrier the music on the radio gets.

*

The next day, as she’s rotating a customer’s tires, she hears the bell on the shop’s front door jangle and then fall to the ground with a clatter. The door itself sounds like it’s hit the wall hard enough to punch a hole in the drywall. Rey pokes her head over the car, ready to tell the person responsible off, but they’ve already stopped in front of Han’s desk.

The man in Han's office is _tall_.

His long hair rests just above his shoulders, just unkempt enough to be cool instead of grungy. And dark, just like his apparel. His black sweater is both loose and snug around his admittedly massive frame, sleeves and torso a touch too long but still hardly able to contain the width of him, accentuating every hard edge and curve of his body as his arms cross. The only thing about him that isn’t pitch-black is his skin, pale where a sliver of it is exposed on the back of his neck. He must be a customer but she doesn’t recognize him.

"Don't have other people try to get in touch with me for you. It's pathetic."

Her blood runs cold at the familiar timbre of the man’s voice. _Oh, no._

"What?" asks Han, sounding lost.

"Some _girl_ ," the man fairly shouts, "has been _calling_ me at _work_. About _you_."

_Ohhhhhhhh, no._

Han rises to his feet, now partially visible to Rey just off to the man’s side. "What girl?"

"She said her name was Rey but I'm sure it's fake. She sounds..." He waves his hands wildly. "Young. British."

Rey moves to run into the office, if only to take the blame and spare Han his son’s fury, but Han gives her a look that roots her to the spot.

"I don't know who you're talking about, kid."

" _Like hell you don't_ ," the man growls, gripping the desk with shaking hands. For half a moment Rey thinks he'll overturn it.

"Easy, Ben," says Han with a warning tone.

The man – Ben – doesn’t overturn the desk, but he does sweep his right arm across it, scattering pens and paperwork all over the floor. He clenches and unclenches his fists, breathing heavily, but his posture is a little more relaxed after his outburst.

" _Leave me alone_."

Han opens his mouth to reply, but Ben is already storming out of his office. When the door to the shop slams closed, Han slumps into his chair and rubs at his face before looking up at Rey. She wants nothing more than to sink into the floor and disappear.

"Sunshine."

Rey enters his office, sheepish.

"Wanna tell me why you're calling my son at the station?"

Rey bites her lip. "You were upset," she begins defensively, "and he's just being...I just thought maybe if he knew how you were feeling, I could get him to..."

His expression turns unreadable. Rey thinks he softens, but then he's on the ground, picking up the papers Ben had knocked over. "You don't have to do that, sunshine."

Rey gets on the floor with him. "I'm sorry, Han, I was trying to..."

"I don't need anyone's pity," Han says, not harshly.

Rey can't find the words to fix the situation, so instead, she helps Han tidy his desk and picks up papers until Han dismisses her early. Her guilty stomach churns the entire walk home.

 *

The tiny two bedroom apartment she shares with Finn and Poe feels considerably more crowded now that Rose is in the mix. Finn, Poe, and Rey all had few belongings each, but Rose is more traditionally feminine in her tastes, unlike Rey, and she’d brought with her no shortage of fluffy pillows, mismatched decorative pieces, and more hair products and contraptions than Rey even knew existed. Rey loves Rose dearly, but sometimes she misses when it was just the three of them, particularly now, when all she wants to do is lounge on the couch and sulk. It’s hard to be miserable in a room that feels sunnier than Flagstaff in July.

The shower’s running; it has to be Finn, since Rose should be in class and Poe is out schmoozing with business prospects. His cat, BB, has been snuggled up next to her for the better part of the last hour, purring and bumping his orange and white head against her hand as he tries to lift it and force her to pet him. She finally manages to smile when he rolls over onto his back for belly rubs. BB is a weird cat, almost more like a dog in behavior, but wickedly smart and devious like all cats before him.

Against her better judgment, she opens up her laptop and finds herself on the website of _The Finalizer_. She presses the play button and lets the angry music sink her deeper into her miserable mood.

_That ancient little number was brought to you by Kylo and his somehow matronly taste in punk._

_I’ll ask those of you with functioning ears to disregard Hux’s comment. Those of you who don’t, enjoy whatever new-school garbage Hux is about to throw our way…_

“Why aren’t you at work? And…why are you listening to _that_?”

She jumps; she hadn’t heard the shower turn off, but Finn has emerged from the bathroom, looking like he’s seen a ghost. BB is completely oblivious to Finn’s terror as he leaps up from Rey’s lap and rubs up against his legs. Rey hastily closes her laptop, but the accursed man’s voice continues for a moment as her laptop tries to catch up with her action. “What do you mean?” she asks innocently.

“That’s a First Order station,” he replies warily, raising an eyebrow. “And those two are the worst of all of them.”

Rey had forgotten how long Finn had interned at First Order Broadcasting. “Did you have to work for them?”

“I was an assistant for their show for months. I can’t tell you how much equipment I had to replace every time Kylo would…” He shudders.  “He’s got a hell of a temper on him. And Hux is just needlessly cruel. He always looked at me like I was a worm under his shoes. I wouldn’t have pegged it as the kind of program you’d like.”

“I don’t like it,” Rey says. “I just…my boss listens to it a lot. I’ve gotten used to listening to it in the afternoon.”

Finn hums with concern but doesn’t argue with her. “Would you mind putting in earbuds, then? I’m practically having war flashbacks over here.”

Rey laughs. “Sure, peanut.”

Finn nods and ducks into his room, leaving the door open for BB to trot after him happily. Rey moves to reopen her laptop, but can’t do it without thinking of Han and his dejected expression when Ben had left his office.

She has to make it right. Rey unlocks her phone and settles her thumb over the most recent number she’d called. She steels herself for whatever is going to come next and dials.

Of course, today she doesn’t get the luxury of a busy signal to give her more time to prepare. "Thanks for calling in, this is Kylo...."

"It's Rey. From…" She almost says _nowhere,_ but now doesn’t feel like the time for a joke. “Yesterday.”

He growls, then, and Rey suddenly has the wherewithal to add, "Don't hang up."

To her surprise, he doesn't. "What. Do. You. Want."

Rey hesitates, trying to figure out the best approach. “I shouldn’t have said what I said yesterday.”

There’s some shuffling on the other end, then a scoff, but no words.

“Would you meet with me tonight?” Rey asks, taking care to temper the irritation in her voice at his attitude. “I just want to…apologize.”

"What a joke," Kylo groans. “Let me guess, you’ll be bringing Han Solo along? How do you know him, exactly?”

She closes her eyes and prays to whatever gods there are to help keep her from screaming at him. "Look. Tonight at eight, I will be at the Outpost in Brooklyn, seated at the bar close to the door, _alone_ , wearing gray. I’ll answer whatever questions you have then, I promise."

"You can't answer me now?"

"Don’t you have a show to run?”

“I do,” he says, his tone acrid. “I wonder why you’re so insistent on calling me during it. He must really be desperate if he’s going to keep trying this. He always was so pitifully sentimental.”

This time, Rey is the one who hangs up, so angry she feels like steam is blowing out of her ears. What Han sees in his son, Rey will never know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title of the piece is from "Daddy's Tune," by Jackson Browne.
> 
> Other songs referenced in this chapter, either vaguely or explicitly, are "Witchy Woman," Eagles; "California Uber Allies," Dead Kennedys; and "Homicide," 999.
> 
> My rule for choosing the music that Kylo and Hux play was to listen to punk at my job and if it either distracted me from my work or made me uncomfortable, or if it was so ridiculous I felt like I had to check to make sure my headphones were plugged in all the way and it wasn't playing for everyone to hear at my desk, it was going on their playlist. It was at this time that I determined that Kylo would be partial to classic punk, because the "modern punk" station on iTunes was weak?! All Time Low is not punk, Apple.
> 
> (I mean maybe he KIND OF listens to new stuff too but we all know how badly our boy wants to seem tough and edgy so he'd never admit it lol)
> 
> Feedback and kudos are always welcome! :)


	2. Chapter 2

“You’re wearing that out?”

Rey looks down at her body as she chews on a bobby pin. Her gray sweater is long, cozy, her favorite: a comfort she wants if she has to deal with Ben Solo in person. The knit is stretched out a bit in places from years of love. Underneath it, she’s thrown on a pair of simple black leggings and her sneakers. No accessories, no nonsense. She’s on a mission.

“Yes. Why?”

“No reason.”

She turns to Poe partway through pulling back her chestnut hair, scowling. He holds up his hands in surrender, but his smile is winning as it always is, dark eyes sparkling with mirth. Poe always looks put together, even when he’s not. His wild curls and five o’clock shadow still look professional somehow when paired with his crisp, clean suit. Distinguished. A man who demands respect even as he’s perched lazily on the arm of the couch.

He’s not going to get it from Rey, though, who knows him well enough to know it’s all just a façade for the free-wheeler underneath. Marching out of the bathroom, one hand behind her head and bobby pin still trapped between her teeth, she picks up a bright yellow pillow with her free hand and begins to wallop him with it. BB, ever protective, nips at her feet and bats at her legs as she attacks his owner.

“It just seems a little casual,” he clarifies loudly, pushing her away with a laugh. She drops the pillow, and BB jumps up and settles on it, purring. “Sleepy casual. Naptime chic.”

“This is a casual meeting,” Rey replies. She pins up her first bun and starts on the next.

“Yeah, who are you meeting with, Rey?” asks Rose around a mouthful of bean sprouts. Her soft face and eyes belie a tough spirit, sturdy and dependable but unendingly kind, in much the same way that the sands of the desert couldn’t block out the sunshine in Rey’s spirit. Rose’s bangs are getting a little long; she’s not been to the salon in a while, her piles of engineering homework all over the apartment and eating up all of her time. Once she’s swallowed her sprouts, she blows upward at the black hair covering her eyes. It doesn’t accomplish much. “Anyone we know?”

 _With the estranged son of my boss_. “It’s nobody important.”

“Oh, so it’s a boy. I’m going to have to kill him, aren’t I.”

Finn pokes his head up from behind Poe, his full lips pulled back into a grimace as he shakes his head with mock disappointment. His clean, dark skin is positively glowing in the low light of the living room. He rubs his hands over his cropped hair, over the back of his head. Her first friend in the city, her first roommate, her first platonic everything, her peanut.

Rey’s suddenly struck with the realization that all of her friends are quite beautiful. She looks down at her outfit again, scans her face for imperfections and finds many. Wisps of loose hair escaping her hairties all over, chapped lips, freckles from years of improper skincare in the Arizona sun.

“Maybe I should…” She pushes at her forehead, tugs at her hair. Rey sighs. She’s never been good at this.

“It _is_ a boy!” Finn crows, rising from the couch. Rey gives him a withering look. “Oh, peanut,” he murmurs, walking into the bathroom and wrapping his arms around her. “You’re beautiful every minute. You know that. It’s obvious.”

“Totally,” agrees Poe. “Is it a date?”

Rey almost chokes on nothing at all. “Not even close,” she says. “Like, the opposite of that.”

“A duel?” Rose offers wryly. Rey snorts.

“Honestly, that’s not a bad way to put it.”

Finn pulls back from her, aghast. “You’re not going to fight anyone, are you?”

Unbidden into Rey’s mind come flashes of Ben’s shaking hands, his arm toppling over everything on Han’s desk. “No promises.”

“Um, yes promises.” Finn looks very serious now. “You’re joking, aren’t you?”

“It explains the need for comfort,” says Poe sagely. “Hard to sock it to someone in formalwear. Trust me on that.”

Finn points an accusatory finger at the other man. “You, don’t you encourage her, you hear me?”

“Finn.” Rey pats him on the shoulder and he relaxes somewhat. “I’m not going to fight anyone.”

Rose considers Rey like she would one of her engineering assignments, tilting her head as she thinks. “Just a little mascara,” says Rose finally as she stands from her chair and moves Finn out of her way. “You’ll feel tougher, trust me, fight or no fight.” She rummages through the cabinet and pulls out a slim, purple tube, offering it to Rey.

“With mascara?”

“Um, yeah. It makes your eyes pop. My sister always said it really helped her for glaring at people, they can’t look away.”

Rose rarely talks about Paige Tico, her older sister in the service whom she’d lost several years ago, but Rey knows that most everything about Rose goes back to her in one way or another. With Paige’s blessing hanging in the air, Rey takes the makeup from Rose and slowly applies it. She has to admit that it does make her eyes look brighter.

“Try the glare, try the glare,” Rose commands with a laugh. Rey obeys, baring her teeth playfully and growling at the lot of them. Poe gives a loud, false shudder.

“See, I wouldn’t fight her,” Poe says to Finn, who’s buried his head in his hands. “Downright chilling. Nothing to worry about, buddy.”

 *

The Outpost is still a little divey, but it’s certainly improved now that its loathsome previous owner has retired. As Brooklyn has gotten busier, so has the Outpost; it’s a Wednesday night, but there’s still quite a few more people here than usual, nestled into corners with their beers and filling the space with their laughter. Rey’s eyes fall on the orange glow of the string lights overhead and the carved wood of the bar that she sits at, spinning a bit in her barstool. She can’t believe she misses when it was rundown and lonely in here, but she does all the same. At least the drinks are still cheap, her beer only running her about four dollars.

She waits about forty-five minutes, her drink almost finished, when she decides that the whole idea was stupid. Then the door to the Outpost opens again, and a tall, striking, familiar man darkens the doorway.

He turns to her, drawn like a magnet, and she finally gets a good look at his face. Long, pale, spotted unevenly with freckles and moles, as if a painter had pulled back the bristles of his brush and let the paint drops fall where they would on the man’s visage. His nose is large, but it suits his long face; his lips are full, soft-looking, despite how they’re pulled back in a menacing scowl. And his eyes…She could stare into those brown eyes forever and still find something new in them. She’s not sure if she’d like everything she’d find.

Ben is handsome, she decides, in unexpected ways, as she imagines Han probably was in his youth. But he’s far less so when he's angry, as he is right now. He doesn't sit down, choosing instead to tower over her. Probably to scare her.

"You're Rey?" The tone of his voice is shockingly soft, in sharp contrast to the daggers he's glaring at her.

"The one and only," she deadpans, holding out a hand for him to shake. He doesn’t take it. He just stares.

“Are you, gonna, um, sit down?”

He takes a breath, appears to chew on whatever he was going to say, then pulls out a bar stool and sits beside her nearly without breaking eye contact. Several moments pass as Rey slowly realizes she has no idea where to begin.

“Ben…”

“Kylo,” he corrects.

Rey wants to argue that “Kylo” is ridiculous even for a stage name, but gets the feeling it’s a pointless endeavor. “Your father…”

“Han Solo and his feelings are none of my concern,” Ben says, sounding practiced. “I thought you were here to apologize?”

She was, but she finds it difficult to offer this man anything when venom drips from his every word. “I am sorry that I bothered you at work. It was inappropriate. But I’m not sorry for what I said.”

Ben scoffs. “Your apologies need work.”

“I’ll bet yours do, too,” Rey retorts, sipping at what’s left of her beer. “On the rare occasions that you give them.”

He doesn’t take the bait, which almost disappoints Rey. His eyes flicker over her body quickly, the fingers of the hand resting on the bar curling just a touch. Ben’s lips quirk just a bit, not quite a smirk, and there’s a flicker of something surprisingly warm in the dark eyes she’d been thinking of searching before.

“What?” Rey asks, feeling the need to cross her arms over her chest, to cover herself from his gaze.

Ben pauses a moment, then meets her eyes again. “I didn’t realize the dress code for our meeting was so relaxed. I’d have worn my pajamas. Where did you find that thing? Scavenged from the depths of some thrift store?”

She _had_ bought it second-hand, actually, but that’s entirely none of his business. Rey’s jaw drops. An indignant rage bubbles low in her chest, rising to her face and reddening her cheeks. “You haven’t much of a filter, have you?”

“Not generally, no,” he admits, beckoning the bartender over with a wave of his hand. “That’s reserved for friends.”

“Because you’ve got so many of those.”

This Ben ignores. Reaching for his wallet, he hardly acknowledges the bartender beyond his request for a “whiskey, neat” and pulls out a twenty, setting it on the bar. The bartender prepares his change and returns with it, but Ben waves him off, sipping slowly at the whiskey and making a face. Apparently, it’s not up to par. Rey lets herself enjoy the way he scowls at it before returning his attentions to her. “How do you know Han Solo, scavenger?”

“Don’t call me _scavenger_ ,” she hisses. “My name is Rey, and I work for your father.”

He raises his eyebrows before schooling his features back into a cool indifference. The filter he claimed to extend only to friends doesn’t, in actuality, seem to exist at all. “Down at the shop.”

“Yes,” Rey says. She’s prepared to defend her skills as a mechanic, as she’s had to with so many other men, customers included, but Ben doesn’t question it.

“For how long?”

Pausing, Rey counts back through the months she’s been there. “A little over a year now.”

“I’m surprised he’s been able to hold onto you for so long.” He takes another sip of the whiskey, his expression predatory, as if he’s waiting for the right time to pounce on her. Rey tries not to think of that.

“I’ve never wanted for anything working for Han.” _Except for him to turn off your stupid radio show_. “He treats me very well. Like…”

“Like _family_?” Ben asks with a sneer, apparently having heard what he was waiting for. “Is he like a father to you? I’m certain he’s far better at paying attention to a pretty young woman like you than he was at minding me.”

It takes Rey some time to gather Ben’s meaning, but not long. She feels her face growing warm once more.

“How can you talk about your own father like that?” Rey cries, aghast, earning her the stares of a few of the other patrons. “Han is kind, he cares about people, he cares about _you_ , you know, he listens to your dreadful program every day just to hear your voice…”

“He’s a scoundrel,” Ben replies, with as much passion as he might have reading an instruction manual, but his eye twitches as he speaks, lips quivering ever so slightly. “A scoundrel and his scavenger. He’d be so proud to have you as his daughter. The two of you are made for each other.”

“You think you’re so _clever_ ,” Rey says acidly. There is something dark and mysterious rolling through her body, foreign and familiar at once. “But you’re just a pathetic little boy so desperate to feel important that you’d throw away anyone foolish enough to love you.”

Rey registers the sound of the glass shattering before she sees it. When she looks down, Ben’s left hand is clenched into a tight fist, and his blood is just beginning to drip between his fingers and onto the bar. Shards of glass surround his hand. She meets his cold glare with one of her own as takes a deep breath through his nose.

“You’re right,” Ben says calmly on the exhale. She waits for an explanation but he doesn’t say anything else, just mops at the blood and whiskey with a napkin. “Han Solo is a fool.”

Rey feels as though she’s been slapped in the face, but the words awaken her from her fury, and she's hit with a wave of guilt that mingles with what's left of her anger. She offers an apology to the bartender, who’s scrounged up some gloves and bleach and is shooing Ben away from the bar, throwing more napkins his way as he stands. “I can’t say it was a pleasure to meet you,” Ben groans, dabbing at his hand. “But I hope you enjoy Han’s _kindness_ for as long as it lasts.”

Goddamnit, he really brings out the worst in her. She can’t just let him leave, no matter how much she wants to. Rummaging through her purse and coming up with nothing, Rey finally settles on…borrowing, _not_ scavenging, a pen and not-bloodied napkin from further down the bar and starts scribbling hastily on it. Before Ben can storm his way out of the Outpost, she taps him on the arm and holds it out to him.

“That is my phone number,” she says. Slowly, so he knows how stupid she thinks he is. “When you’re ready to behave like a halfway normal human being, I can be reached at that number.”

He considers it for a moment, adds it to his makeshift wound dressing, and walks out of the bar without another word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I put these two in a room together and all they want to do is snipe at each other. What's a girl to do? *sighs*


	3. Chapter 3

The walk home is long and bitterly cold, but Rey wants the time to clear her head. Fire still courses through her veins, though her blood seems to be cooling the further she gets from the Outpost. She’s never experienced that kind of anger before. But the way he spoke to her, about his father, had opened a floodgate inside of her. A boy with a father like Han, privileged enough to be able to cast him aside like garbage, and meanwhile Rey grew up living off of the scraps of love that others had left over from their own families, passed from foster home to foster home until it became legally acceptable for no one to care about her…

 _Ben couldn’t have possibly known that,_ says the logical part of her brain, which she promptly silences.

A crisp autumn breeze nips at her nose, and she buries her body deeper into her cozy sweater. She’s sorely tempted to go into the Indian restaurant she lives above and warm herself from the inside out with her favorite curry. After lingering outside for a moment, and checking her bank account, Rey manages to resist, moving for the door that leads upstairs instead.

Every step up to her fifth floor walk-up is agonizing, but the moment she opens the door to her apartment, Rey almost wishes there were more of them. She barely has her foot in the door before the interrogation begins.

“So,” says Poe, looking away from his video game long enough to start waggling his eyebrows at her from his position on the couch. “How was your date?”

“It wasn’t a date,” she reminds him coolly. Rey shucks off her shoes and tosses her bag carelessly beside the door.

At the sound of her voice, Finn pokes his head out from his and Poe’s room. “You’re home already?”

“Thankfully, yes.”

Poe grimaces as he flies his virtual starfighter close enough to bomb another one. The resulting explosion is far noisier than it would be in real space, but it’s not enough to get any kind of a reaction out of Rose, who’s seated at the kitchen counter with her nose perilously close to her book. Finn, however, looks scandalized.

“Rose is studying,” Finn chides, almost maternal as he comes into the living room.

Rey giggles, gesturing at Rose with her right hand. “I think she’s falling asleep, actually.”

“ ’m studying,” Rose clarifies, for no one at all, sounding as though she’d just woken from a years-long slumber.

Concern crosses Finn’s features again, and for once it’s not directed at Rose; it’s for Rey and Rey alone. She opens her mouth to ask what the matter is, but Finn is already paling, eyes wide as he closes the distance between them and takes her hand in his.

“Is that…Rey, tell me that’s not blood.”

Rey furrows her brow, turning her wrist over in his hand to see what it is he’s talking about, and…yep, at some point, a small amount of Ben’s blood found its way onto the sleeve of her favorite sweater. She must have accidentally dragged it along the bar, or perhaps it had happened when she’d given him her phone number? Groaning, she shrugs her way out of the sweater and pads into the kitchen in her sports bra, starting the faucet and shoving the offending clothing under the cold water. It isn’t doing much for the now-dried stain.

“Rey?”

“It’s fine,” sighs Rey. “It’s not my blood.”

“Oh, _that’s_ how she comforts me,” moans Finn, falling back onto the couch and pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. “As long as it’s not yours!”

There is a gentle tap on Rey’s shoulder; Poe has appeared behind her, looking nothing short of awestruck, but also gently takes her sweater from her and starts cleaning it properly. She presses her forehead to his arm in thanks before sitting beside Finn. “Whose is it?” asks Poe as he works at the stain.

Just then, a gentle snore saves Rey from having to answer. Rose’s head has met her physics homework, her black hair falling in a curtain and hiding her face, stray locks fluttering in front of her with every breath. The look Finn gives her is so devastatingly soft. Rey can’t hold back her smile.

“Running herself ragged,” Poe observes. “I don’t miss college at all. Tests are the worst thing ever invented.”

“I’ll take her to bed. I’m pretty tired myself,” Rey says, eager for an excuse to get out of the room and away from the boys’ questions. She holds out her hand for her sweater, but Poe won’t give it.

“Tired of our inquiring minds,” quips Poe, which earns him a light smack. “I’ll take care of this,” he continues, wringing out the sweater. “I want to run a DNA test anyway.”

Another soft snore. As delicately as she can, Rey rubs Rose’s back. “Rose,” Rey whispers. The other girl begins to stir in pieces: a hitch in her breathing, then a scrunch of her face, a clench and unclench of her fingers. “Rose, c’mon, let’s go to bed.”

“Gotta…study,” Rose mumbles into her book.

“Finn will help you study in the morning.” Rey turns to Finn, whose cheeks darken at the prospect. His little crush is really too sweet. “Right, Finn?”

He nods feverishly. Rose groans in protest, rolling a bit on the counter, before her snores begin again in earnest. Hoisting Rose’s arm up over her shoulders, Rey slowly begins to lift Rose up from her chair. She’s strong enough to bear the full weight of her if she had to, but thankfully Rose grumbles and steps down onto the floor, following Rey’s lead into their shared bedroom.

Rose’s cheeriness, which had so strongly influenced the once perfunctory decorative style of Rey and the boys, is even more apparent in the tiny bedroom that struggles to contain it. While Rey’s side of the room is still somewhat sparse and efficient, a work all in beige, Rose’s is bursting with love, covered in bright fabrics and photos of her family, her sister, her friends. There are so many photos that some of these have spread onto the walls of Rey’s half of the room, which she doesn’t mind. It’s nice to have people to watch over her for once.

“There you go,” murmurs Rey as she lays Rose down. She thinks that Rose may have mumbled a thank you, but she’s snoring again so quickly that she can’t be sure.

“Don’t think I’ll forget about this,” calls Finn from the living room. “This face?” He gestures at himself in a wide circle. “Is not the face of a man who likes to be left in the dark.”

“Goodnight, guys,” she replies sweetly, and closes the door.

*

_Who do I have to thank for the state of your hand, Kylo?_

_Me._

_…okay then. In honor of Kylo’s recent trip to urgent care, here’s Gary Gilmore’s Eyes, by The Adverts. You’re listening to the Finalizer._

It has always fascinated Rey how unwilling people are to open up their own cars. She supposes she should be more grateful; the flat tires and dead batteries of the world are what keep Falcon Autos running, even if they are boring as all hell to handle. But as she starts in on changing the oil of her third car of the day, Rey finds herself wishing for more of a challenge. This isn’t helped by the continued aggressive music radiating from the speakers in the shop.

Perhaps if it’s slow enough today, she can ask Han if she can tinker some more with _the_ Falcon, the one the shop is named for, a stunning but no longer functional ’77 model that now lives in Han’s garage. It had been nicknamed the Falcon, Han said, by an old friend who’d had it before him. Rey has heard enough stories about Han and Lando and the Falcon that she thinks she could write a book on the subject, and she still doesn’t feel like she’s heard enough.

Han doesn’t look like he’s in any mood for storytelling, though, when he emerges from the front office with his keys. He must not be planning on staying, because he’s turned the music off, too. “You’re going to be running things here alone for the back half of the afternoon, kid,” he says, pulling on a faded leather jacket. “Think you’ll be alright?”

Internally, Rey mourns the loss of yet another chance to work on the fabled vehicle; Han won’t let her touch it unless he’s here to supervise, so she’s deprived until at least tomorrow. “Where are you going?”

“Doctor,” he grumbles. Before Rey can panic, he adds, “All routine. Just trying to get better about it.”

She gives him a little hum of approval. “I can handle things here. It’s been pretty quiet.”

 _Well, not that quiet,_ Rey thinks, recalling the harsh music, _until now, anyway._ Han gives her a terse nod, and prepares to say something, his jaw working in a way that reminds her of Ben.

She wonders.

“Han?”

His jaw stops moving.

“What, exactly, is your son’s deal?”

Han hides his clear discomfort with a snicker. “What’s his _deal_?”

“You know what I mean, Han. Why won’t he talk to you?”

Han looks as though he wants to be anywhere but here. Indeed, he almost looks as though he’s cataloguing potential escape routes as his eyes scan every inch of the room, looking at everything that isn’t the fierce girl before him. Rey is patient; she folds her arms across her chest and lets him think, turning the words over in his head until he finds the right ones. Finally, he gives a long, low sigh.

“He doesn’t talk to any of us anymore. It’s not just me.”

“Who’s ‘us’?” asks Rey.

“Me, his mother, his uncle.” His voice becomes thick with pain, which he hastily swallows down. “Another time, sunshine. Appointment, remember?”

Rey would have argued. But Han’s out the door in a hurry, and she just doesn’t have enough time.

Huffing, Rey makes her way into the office, content to turn on her favorite classic rock station and get back to work. For reasons she can’t quite fathom, she finds herself turning the dial a little further, scrolling through the satellite radio stations until she finds the familiar, angry tones she’s grown so accustomed to recently.

_…by Subhumans, requested by Gwen in Queens. Glad we could play one of your favorites for you. If there’s a favorite tune you’d like to hear, give us a call, there’s still time…_

As she pads her way back into the shop, listening to the furious guitar riffs and pounding drums, Rey finds herself actually wincing at the sound. It’s annoying at its best, and absolutely physically painful to listen to at its worst. Rey tries for a moment, but just doesn’t think she understands it. She can’t imagine how any of this could be anyone’s favorite music, even Kylo’s.

Just then, an idea flashes through Rey’s brain faster than a bullet…a bullet? God, she’s starting to internalize that hurtful music more than she thought. She makes a mental note to try to internalize some Top 40 once she gets out of here. Before then, however, she finds herself pulling her phone from the pocket of her coveralls and, after wiping her oil-slicked fingers, dials the station’s number. If she can’t get Han to help her understand, she’ll have to go straight to the source. And hopefully not kill him in the process.

The dial tone sounds once, twice, three times, as Kylo and Hux argue.

_Oh, we have another caller, let me just…_

_I think I’ll take the next call, actually, we’re all tired of listening to you at this point…_

_…_ and just like that, the dial tone is replaced with a deep, masculine voice.

“Thanks for calling in, you’re live on The Finalizer. What do you want to hear?”

Rey freezes for a moment, the sensory overload of hearing Ben directly in her ear as well as echoing off the walls of the shop jarring her. Apparently, the moment is too long.

“Hello?”

“Hi,” says Rey breathlessly once she gets her bearings, only to immediately lose them again at hearing her own voice over the speakers. Is that really what she sounds like on the phone?

“…can we help you?” asks Hux, the question dripping with sarcasm and disdain in equal measure.

Right. Rey can worry about her voice later. “I have a request. For Be…Kylo, specifically.”

She can tell Ben is trying to keep his voice even; he can’t reveal her on air, but she’s certain he wants to. “Okay,” he replies through what sounds like gritted teeth, “what’s your request?”

“Can you play me your favorite song?”

Dead air fills the space for the most fleeting of instants. “My…my favorite song?”

Rey nods, before realizing that of course he can’t see her nodding, so she hums her assent instead. Over the speakers, she can hear a bit of a frustrated growl, followed in short order by a scoff that threatens to blow out his microphone with its intensity.

“Why would you want to hear that?” Ben finally snaps, clearly forgetting in his shock that he’s still live.

“I’ve been a big fan of yours for a long time,” Rey lies for his audience, “I’m curious to know what it is.”

She can actually hear him fumbling with something over the phone. “It…it doesn’t quite fit the tone of the station…”

“Oh, just play it, Ren,” says Hux. “ _Honestly_. Thank you for your call, miss.”

“Thank you,” replies Rey, and the call is disconnected.

When the next song begins with minimal guitar, it strikes Rey that Ben is probably going to lie in his song choice. He has an audience to entertain, after all. But as it continues, the surprisingly pleasant melody floats around her in a way that’s almost familiar and she knows instinctively that he’s telling the truth. The ring of what sounds like chapel bells, ominous and haunting. Violins, or maybe a viola? Definitely strings. The singer’s voice scratches against the sweeter tones of the instruments, but the pained growl forces her attention  onto the darkness of the lyrics. Desperate, lonely, cold.

_The killer in me is the killer in you, my love…_

Before the song ends, there’s a little buzz from the workbench; she’d left her phone there. When she picks it up, her screen is lit with one short message from an unknown sender.

_-Are you satisfied, scavenger?-_

Grinning, Rey takes a moment to add the sender to her contacts – “Han’s Angry Son” – before replying.

- _For now._ -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I didn’t have the guts to kill my parents, so I thought I’d get back at them through song. And rather than have an angry, angry, angry violent song I’d thought I’d write something beautiful..." -Billy Corgan of Smashing Pumpkins on "Disarm", Ben's favorite song played at the end
> 
> if that isn't some grade A modern Ben Solo shit then I don't know what is
> 
> Other songs referenced in this chapter, directly and indirectly, are Religious Wars by Subhumans, and Gary Gilmore's Eyes, by The Adverts. Incidentally!!! Gary Gilmore, the murderer referenced in that song (which is about a hospital patient receiving his eyes as a transplant) was caught in part because of an accidental injury to his hand while disposing of his murder weapon. Though Ben hasn't and won't murder anyone, this entirely coincidental connection made the song fit even better than I originally thought. In a morbid, terrible way. Thanks for your stressful taste in music, Ben.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want you all to know right out the gate how blown away I am by the feedback for this goofy little AU!!! Thank you so much for all of your support, and as always, I hope this story is living up to your expectations. An earlier-than-expected update for y'all!

Rose leaves early on Sunday morning for church, and Rey has a few hours to herself. She spends all of them playing Ben’s favorite song over and over, until she knows it inside and out.

With every pluck of the guitar strings, with every pained howl and echoing bell, Rey feels like she understands a little better. It tugs insistently at something long dormant inside of her, an undercurrent of dull hurt that now rises to the surface and demands her attention. Does he feel like this, when he hears this song? Does he feel like this all the time? Is that why he’s so cold? Reaching for her phone, Rey almost texts him, almost asks him what he’s feeling, almost asks him why, but she stops herself.

She can’t explain it. But the moment he played her this song, that he let her in for those three minutes, it made her feel…awake.

 _This isn’t about me,_ she reminds herself. _This is about Han._

“I love a good, miserable song as much as the next person, but maybe you could switch it up?”

Finn stands in the doorway to her room, still in his pajamas. Flushing scarlet, Rey pauses the song and closes her laptop.

“Sorry, Finn,” she says, wincing. “I thought you were still asleep. Did I wake up Poe, too?”

He shrugs, as if to say it’s a non-issue, and sits down on the end of her bed. “Is everything okay? I mean, the weird meetings, and the blood on your sweater, and listening to that First Order station and now this depressing music…”

“I’m fine,” Rey assures him. “Just…trying to help a friend.”

“Your friend’s got odd interests,” Finn observes, and she laughs.

“It’s my boss,” she admits. “He’s going through a lot right now.”

“Han Solo?”

Rey nods, twisting the power cord of her laptop in her hands. He doesn’t ask her to elaborate, and she’s grateful; for all of his normal insistence that he won’t be “left in the dark,” Finn always seems to know when to step back and let Rey go at her own pace. He smoothes out her linens, reaching for her beige knitted blanket and wrapping it around her shoulders.

“What was working with Ben Solo like?” Rey asks as she cuddles up to him closer. “Like, really like. Day to day.”

Finn’s nose scrunches up in a way that makes Rey giggle. “Ben Solo? Um…oh, you mean… you mean Kylo Ren?” He tilts his head, confused, but she can see the exact moment he makes the connection and realizes what she means, when his face falls and his jaw goes slack. “Rey, no.”

“I think he’s horrible, and I think it’s going to be work,” she begins hastily, “but…”

“Your date was with _Kylo Ren_?”

“It wasn’t a date,” Rey sighs, for what feels like the fiftieth time this week, but Finn isn’t having any of it.

“I…I forbid you from seeing that man. I’m serious, Rey, he’s a walking natural disaster.”

“Yeah, I’ve pieced that together, and for the last time I’m not ‘seeing’ him,” Rey snaps. “He’s Han’s son, and Han misses him, I’m just trying to help. That’s all.”

Finn’s frown deepens, if that’s even possible at this point. “If I were him, I’d be counting my blessings. And if I were _you_ , I’d stay far away. He’s _unhinged_ , Rey.” Finn suddenly grips her shoulders with a gravitas that Rey thinks is a little excessive. “You never told me how his blood ended up on your sweater.”

Gently, Rey takes his hands and sets them on his lap. “He broke a glass.”

“Why?”

“I told him he was being an asshole and I don’t think he liked hearing that very much.”

Finn groans. “God I don’t miss the broken glasses.” He sighs, leaning back against her wall and looking up at the glow-in-the-dark stars that Rose and Rey had put up ages ago, the faded green-white color much less impressive in the daytime. To Rey’s surprise, Finn laughs. “You really told Kylo Ren off?”

She smirks, and all he can manage is to shake his head at her. “You have no idea what I would give to be able to see that.”

“Be careful what you wish for,” Rey chides playfully. “There may be a repeat performance in the near future.”

His expression is deadly serious again. “Rey. He’s not a good man. I worked with him for years, and he’s…he’s a nightmare. Truly. This that you’re doing…it isn’t a good idea.”

Frowning, Rey leans back and settles against him, eyes tracing the fake constellations she and Rose had made with the stick-on stars. “Yeah,” she mumbles noncommittally. Finn is right, of course. She shouldn’t be involved.

But as she takes Finn’s hand in reassurance, that damned song is still stuck in her head.

*

Monday progresses, at first, just like any other Monday. Apart from Han being suspiciously quiet, everything between them is normal. Just before three, however, an older woman enters the shop and goes straight to Han’s office as if she belongs here.

She’s about Han’s age, with dark brown hair that’s shocked with gray in places, the silver strands weaving through the braids atop her head like ribbons. The lines and edges of her face are severe, her posture impeccable. Even her clothes are pristinely pressed and sharp, entirely inappropriate for a workshop environment; Rey is almost nervous when she leans against the dirty wall in her powder blue pantsuit. The woman turns to regard Han, who’s risen from beside the car he’d been working on, and her brown eyes are warm, like they are in the old photographs on Han’s desk…

“Leia,” Han says gruffly, nodding in her direction and chucking a grease-stained cloth onto his desk as he enters his office. They’ve been divorced for years, but Rey’s sure there’s a bit of a strut to his gait that he doesn’t normally have.

“No need to be so formal with me,” replies Leia with no shortage of sarcasm. Then her eyes land directly on Rey, and her face lights up. “Is that Rey? I’m Leia, pleased to meet you.”

Awkwardly, Rey gives a little wave. “Well, come on in,” the older woman commands, firm but respectful. Rey obediently sets down her tools and enters the office.

Both Han and Leia are staring at her expectantly. Han’s office isn’t a small room by any means, but in this particular moment it feels too small for the three of them. Rey’s face begins to grow warm, and she opens her mouth to ask why, exactly, they are looking at her like she’s earned a scolding, or that she will have earned one once she’s made to explain herself, but Han talks first.

“I had the radio on last Friday on my way to the doctor’s,” Han says by way of explanation, but it doesn’t really clear anything up for her, at least not until he says, “I heard you on the air.”

The universe, it seems, has no intention of cutting her a break. “I’m sorry,” Rey blurts out. “I know you said I don’t need to get involved, but…”

Han shakes his head. “I’m not mad, sunshine. I just…” He makes a rather helpless gesture, one which Leia seems to recognize, and she steps in automatically.

“Han told me that Ben was kind to you when you called the station. Mostly,” she clarifies, as Rey starts to argue. “Even after you called the first time and…upset him so much.”

 _You should have seen him at the Outpost,_ Rey thinks, but she wisely keeps their meeting to herself. “I don’t know about that,” Rey warns. “I thought he sounded like he was trying not to reach through the phone and strangle me.”

“Well, he knows you know me, and he hasn’t come back to throw another tantrum,” Han observes.

Rey winces at the memory. “No, but he wasn’t happy about it. He texted me after, he…”

“Ben is _texting_ you?” whispers Leia, her eyes so hopeful and pleading it makes Rey’s heart sink.

“I mean…not really, he kind of says things, when I force him to, it’s not particularly, um, friendly…and it was really just the once that he texted me, he hasn’t said anything else…”

This information doesn’t faze Leia at all; if anything, it seems to encourage her. “You have no idea what that means.” She is nothing if not determined as she turns to her ex-husband. “Han, I think…I think we can do this.”

“Do what? Bring Ben home?”

“Yes.”

With the air of a man who’s already lost, Han crosses his arms. “I don’t know, Leia, you heard the kid, he’s barely done anything to seem like he wants…any of this.”

“It’s more than we’ve seen in years and you know it, Han,” she replies. Her tone is steely, strong, and Rey is suddenly painfully aware of the fact that Leia is right; she had no idea what it would mean for her to insert herself into this affair. All she’d wanted was for some light to come back into Han’s eyes. To fix something that was broken. But one broken thing has turned into three, and everywhere she looks there’s a new wire that’s crossed, or another part rusted through, or a gouge deep in the metal that she hadn’t noticed on the first once-over. The Solo family is a complicated repair that she’s beginning to suspect is far, far above her pay grade.

Then again, she _has_ been wanting a challenge. She probably should have been more specific as to what the challenge should be.

“Rey,” Leia asks gently, “would you…”

_Thanks for tuning in to The Finalizer; it’s another shitty Monday with your hosts Kylo and Hux. Welcome to the First Order._

In an instant, Leia turns from a pillar of strength and authority to an absolute puddle of emotion. She kneels at Han’s desk, looking at the radio like it’s a lifeline…the same way Rey has caught Han looking at it.

“He shouldn’t start in with the cursing right away,” says Leia absently, her expression almost fond as she listens.

“It’s satellite radio,” Han replies, without a trace of sternness. “I’ve heard him say worse.”

It’s devastating, watching them parent Ben from afar. Rey can barely look at them. “Um, I’ll be right back, I just…bathroom,” Rey stammers, ducking out before either of them can argue.

She closes the door to the bathroom and leans against it, sighing heavily as she considers her reflection in the mirror. There’s no way she’s going to be able to give them what they want, Rey knows that, and she thinks Han and Leia probably know it, too. But the fire that had blazed in Leia’s eyes, that spark of hope that flickered and burned…she feels like she has to help. Rey _wants_ to help.

She barely registers what she’s doing until she hears the deep voice of her second least favorite radio host.

“Thanks for calling in, this is Kylo, you’re listening to the Finalizer. What’s your name?”

“Ben, it’s Rey.”

There’s a pause, and then, “You’re _insatiable_ , aren’t you?”

Nothing about his admonishing tone even hints at anything sexual—it shouldn’t, anyway, Rey thinks it probably shouldn’t—but the words are enough to bring a blush to Rey’s cheeks, which she fails spectacularly at fighting down. He seems to have realized how the words came across as well, because he suddenly clears his throat loudly. “That is, uh…”

“Your mother is here,” Rey says quickly, eager to change the subject.

Thank God, it works. “I see,” replies Ben, with no inflection at all.

“Can you…can you play something for her?”

He huffs. “ ‘Something’?”

“Anything,” implores Rey.

“I’ll see what I can do,” he says dismissively, but there it is again, that touch of softness that continues to surprise Rey at every turn.

“Okay, um, thank you.”

She waits for Ben to disconnect in a hurry, as he always does. He doesn’t. Another few agonizingly quiet moments pass before Rey finally says, “I don’t, uh, that’s all I wanted.”

He doesn’t respond immediately, and she imagines he’s probably chewing on his words again, but then he murmurs, “Of course,” and disconnects in a heartbeat.

Confused, Rey looks at her phone screen for a moment. It doesn’t make any sense, but he almost sounded…She shakes the thought out of her head before it can take a more concrete shape, opening the door to the bathroom and heading back toward the office.

The song that starts to play as she approaches sounds just like all of Ben’s music, shouty and lo-fi, but Leia lights up as it begins in earnest. She gasps, hitting Han a couple of times in the arm before she starts…Rey can only describe it as rocking out. She sing-screams along with the female vocalist, rapping her palms against the desk and banging her head so hard that her updo begins to come loose.

_Bind me, tie me, chain me to the wall, I wanna be a slave to you all!_

“Remember this one, Han?” Leia coos with a laugh, and then she’s singing again, sounding more and more like BB when he’s begging for food with every word.

“Oh, yeah. The bondage one? I remember thinking it was weird.”

“It’s about _consumerism_ ,” Leia cries, exasperated, and suddenly Han and Leia are in their twenties again. “She’s talking about being bonded to capitalism, using the sexual imagery to…”

“Yeah, okay, whatever. Still weird. You let Ben listen to this stuff?”

“I didn’t let him listen to anything, I’m sure he found this on his own…”

Unbidden into Rey’s mind comes the thought of a young Ben sifting through his mother’s records in a dusty attic that looks a lot like the one she used to hide and make blanket forts in, at her third foster family’s house. She can almost see him, staring intensely at the needle as it winds and dances along the grooves of the record. As intensely as he’d stared at her when he’d first seen her in the bar…those deep brown eyes, haunted and curious and hateful and soft all at once…

“You told me I was a bad influence, taking him out in the Falcon…”

Rey jumps; she’d been distracted enough to miss the debate become a full-fledged argument. Leia scowls, baring her teeth for a fraction of a second before shouting, “For joyrides through dangerous parts of town, and our son in the car, Han, I was completely justified…”

“He was fine! He was safe! But this…these songs, messing with his mind, I never played him anything like this…”

“No, you just sat a child at the bar where he could hear strangers talk about God knows what, and I told you, he probably found it on his own…”

At this, Han actually stands up from his chair, his finger pointed aggressively just inches from Leia’s face. “You know what? You’re probably right! I’ll bet he found it while you were off making nice with these corporate bigwigs instead of watching Ben. Did you ever have any idea what he was doing while you had him?”

“Did _you_?”

The question hangs heavy in the air, seeping into the empty spaces in the room until none of the three of them can breathe. Han and Leia watch each other, careful but clearly spent, like predators who’ve grown weary of the chase. Something hollow opens up in Rey’s chest. She feels small, all of five years old again, as her eyes bounce between Leia and Han until the song ends.

 _An interesting choice from you, Kylo. The vocalist sounds rather_ insatiable _on that track, does she not? Quite like someone else who seems to have captured your interest as of late. Care to share with the class?_

Rey clears her throat. “I, uh, I really should get back to work.”

She darts into the garage without another word, making every effort not to listen to or care about Ben’s answer to this question.

_You know, the ability to mind one’s own business is a truly admirable skill. And yet, so few people seem to be able to manage it. You seem to have a knack for prying, though, maybe you should switch careers. Preferably as soon as possible. I’d be happy to help you draft your resignation letter._

_It’d be absolutely beautiful, wouldn’t it, with your feminine script._

_If by “feminine” you mean “legible.”_

He comes by the bickering honestly, she supposes. Out of the corner of her eye, Rey sees Leia emerge from Han’s office, wiping stubbornly at what Rey assumes must be frustrated tears. They’d been a united front one minute and at war the next. How had they lived like that for so long?

As she listens to Ben’s heated argument with his cohost, watches Leia leave the shop with a slump to her shoulders, feels the sadness that emanates from Han, Rey can’t find it in her to do anything but hope that she can make it out of this mess unscathed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Leia is rocking out to is "Oh Bondage, Up Yours!" by XRay Spex. I grew enamored with the idea of Leia being something of a punk herself in her youth. Rebels, y'know? :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys...I can't even believe the feedback this little story has gotten thus far. I'll keep working to bring you something worth reading with every update!! <3 All kinds of feedback are always welcome! I love hearing from you all. It warms my heart. :)

Kanata’s is absolutely _packed_. A sea of faces lit up in blinking flashes of neon. Rey’s never quite gotten the appeal, if she’s being honest; Han’s old friend Maz also owns a smaller, hole-in-the-wall restaurant that she greatly prefers to the dark dance hall bursting with sound that she’s currently trying to push her way through, but when Finn came home flushed with pride about a new job as the second AC of the next big TV project at Skywalker Studios, there was only one place to go.

_“Drink,” Rey had all but commanded, after pouring the four of them shots. When Poe raised an amused eyebrow, she shrugged. “What? I’m pre-gaming. Liquor is expensive, and Finn’s not paying for anything.”_

_“Oh, come on, I can buy my own…”_

_“My_ peanut _,” she’d said sternly, “is not paying for_ anything _,” and she’d clinked her glass with his, and that had been that._

It’s a little hazy, and not just because of the disorienting lights; on the Uber ride over, the alcohol had started to kick in, and her warm, fuzzy buzz now begins to drift into tipsy territory. “Alright, peanut, you’re in charge. Drinks?”

“Yes,” he replies with a nod, just as Poe says, “Yeah, let’s get you drunk, buddy, you’ve earned it. Rockstar alert!”

Awestruck, Rose nods her agreement. “You’re amazing,” she breathes. The praise straightens Finn’s spine, gives him a cheeky grin that Rey swears he stole from right off of Poe’s face. “I can’t believe you’re going to work with him. _The_ Luke Skywalker.”

She doesn’t remember much about the Vietnam War-era ensemble drama that Rose had been so glued to, but Rey knows that Skywalker Studios was responsible from the way Rose had sung the man’s praises for months on end. “I probably won’t interact with him _that_ much,” Finn reminds her for the third time that evening, but he preens and grins all the same. “Skywalker is the director; he’s going to be focused on the actors and stuff, not me.”

“Still,” Rose says with a smile. “You’re like, my hero.”

Rey has to hide her grin with something when Finn blushes, so it may as well be another drink. She arrives at the bar with her cash and turns to her friends. “What are you all having?”

Before any of them can answer, everyone in the club throws their heads back in unison and shouts along raucously with the song that’s been playing, the wild call of a people possessed, their joyous faces awash in rainbow-colored lights.

_SHE SAY DO YOU LOVE ME, I TELL HER ONLY PARTLY, I ONLY LOVE MY BED AND MY MAMA, I’M SORRY…_

Rose, already a little farther past tipsy than she should be, joins right in with the chant, giggling and hiccupping throughout. Once the fervor in the club passes, Poe gestures at Rose and the packed dance floor. “I’m having whatever’s going to get me to _that_ point.”

*

Oh, Rey is well and drunk now.

She hadn’t meant to get this bad, of course. Tonight was about Finn, and more importantly, about getting Finn drunk, and, maybe, if she was lucky, getting Rose and Finn to do something more about their flirting than awkwardly shuffling their feet and beaming at each other like schoolchildren. Staying sober enough to enjoy it, of course. But it had all been lost to the rhythm and the cocktails, and Rey finds that she doesn’t particularly mind. Maz Kanata knows how to run a club, that much is certain. She’ll have to remember to visit the old woman and thank her for tonight in the coming days.

Her old fashioned disappears down her gullet and is mysteriously replaced by two vodka cranberries in what feels like the time it takes Rey to blink. “One’s for you,” Rose calls as she fades back into the crowd with Finn to dance. “Hold onto mine?”

Rey nods blearily and heads toward the bar, more to have a place to set the drinks down than anything else. There’s a tall, dark-haired man who bumps into her as she pushes past in her haste, and she cranes her neck to investigate. He’s utterly and blissfully unfamiliar, but Rey laughs to herself at the mental image of Ben Solo at the club all the same. She doesn’t think too hard about why she’d immediately assumed it was him, because there’s vodka to drink. She fairly collides with the bar, setting the drinks down before her and chuckling again at her own clumsiness.

“What’s funny?”

Poe has appeared at her side without her noticing. She busies herself with her little black straw, stirring idly at the vodka cranberry that Rose had thrust in her direction only moments ago. “Your face,” Rey retorts, sipping at the drink.

There’s a moment where the club sounds more like it belongs on a cruise ship to Havana than New York, until the beat drops so hard that it could have knocked the wind out of Rey. Poe clutches his chest as if he’s been shot, so maybe it did. “Poe?” she asks tentatively, but he holds up a hand.

“ _Belcalis_ ,” he says with reverence, as if it’s an explanation all on its own.

Rey cocks her head, confused. She’s a proper millennial, unlike the older Poe; it’s not often that he throws out slang she’s never once heard before, unless it’s in Spanish. “Am I supposed to know what you mean by that?”

“No,” Poe replies softly, patting her on the head and sighing dreamily as the music continues. “No, you’re not. It’s alright. I’m sure you don’t get much like this at the shop.”

“It’s probably for the best,” she says with a grin. “I’d be dancing more than working.”

But Poe is barely listening; he’s gotten up from his chair and begun to dance, apparently overtaken by the infectious energy of whatever “Belcalis” is. Rey isn’t sure how many whiskey sours deep he is at this point, but it must be a lot, judging by his carefree movement. Unable to stop herself, Rey kills the rest of her drink and rises to join him. She sways and bops to the beat, finding it unabashedly enjoyable in a way that dancing doesn’t normally make her feel. Perhaps Belcalis truly is to be revered.

“With all due respect, the dance floor is over there.”

Rey opens her eyes to consider the cruel-sounding woman who’d admonished them. She thinks first of the word _statuesque_ but can’t decide if the word came to her because of the woman’s height or because of her stony face, her skin looking cold as marble and white as porcelain. Her blonde hair is cropped short, exposing every inch of her long neck until her off-the-shoulder burgundy dress begins. Beside her is a shorter but still imposing-looking redhead, all sharp edges and scowls. He’s clad in a simple button-down and jeans, but everything about the clothes still manages to scream _don’t touch_ , _expensive_.

They’ve already rolled their eyes at her and moved on to the bar to order drinks, but the vodka has slowed the normally sharp-as-a-tack Rey down, so her response comes a little late. “What?”

The ginger sneers at her. “This is the _bar_ ,” he says slowly, with all of the patience of an adult explaining something to a child but none of the kindness. “The _dance floor_ , where the people are _dancing_ , is over there. The bar is not for dancing. Do you understand?”

Even through her haze, that voice is _familiar_ , piercing through the alcohol like an icepick to her brain. Rey opens her mouth to say…something, something drunk and stupid, probably, like “Oh my God you’re Hux” or “I hate your horrible show” or, worst of all, “Is Kylo here too?”, but doesn’t get the opportunity because Poe has valiantly stepped in front of her to glare at the assholes.

“Alright, we get it, no need to talk like that,” Poe snaps. “Come on, Rey, let’s…”

But Rose is hurrying toward the bar, all but dragging Finn with her. “Can I have my drink, Rey, pleeeeeeease?” she asks, holding out her hand expectantly, her smile wide.

Rey finds her own hands are empty when they should have been holding Rose’s cocktail. “Uh, nope, I left it on the bar, I think, you don’t want to drink it now, I forgot to watch it. I’ll get you another one, Rose.”

As Rey steps back up to the bar, beside the jerks that she won’t give a second glance, the blonde’s face screws up with an expression vaguely resembling recognition. “2187?”

That’s a weird thing to say. Rey turns around and is even more confused by the way Finn seems to freeze, terrified, until some distant part of her brain supplies her with the word _intern_.

_“They numbered us all,” Finn had told her, once, a long time ago. “They go through interns so quickly at the First Order that they don’t even bother learning our names for the most part.”_

Once that information clicks in her mind, Rey whirls around, glaring at the both of them. “He’s got a name, you know. His name is _Finn_.”

The opportunity to say something cruel has presented itself, which makes Hux light up like a Christmas tree. “Oh, was that your name?” he snickers, looking Finn up and down with disdain. “I’ll be honest, I barely remember you apart from the occasional whimper whenever we asked you to do anything.”

Rey grits her teeth, and Poe looks absolutely murderous, but Finn takes a deep breath and steps closer to the older, nastier man. “You never asked. You ordered.”

“If you’d earned my respect, I’d have given it to you,” says Hux flatly, as if the conversation is ended, and he turns back to the blonde.

Finn is undeterred. “You don’t get to talk to me like that anymore.”

Hux doesn’t even look Finn’s way. “Beg pardon, 2187?”

_“My name is Finn,” he snaps, “and I’ve never been happier that I left your shithole company and your terrible program. I’m so much better than you’ll ever be.”_

At least, that’s what Rey wishes Finn had had time to say, but Rose has already marched forward and slapped Hux clean across the face.

The gut laugh that bursts from Poe seems to surprise even himself as Hux touches his face in a state of shock. Hux’s expression is mirrored in Rose herself, who previously hadn’t had a violent bone in her body. Finn looks like he could kiss her, and Rey wishes he had time to do so, but the blonde’s head snaps in Finn and Rose’s direction, and Rey suddenly finds herself in flight or fight mode.

Oh, how she longs to fight, but she won’t. Not because she doesn’t think she’d win; she’d fought off bigger people when she was smaller than she is now. She’d just rather not have to explain the situation to Han if these losers press charges, and she’s sure they’re the type who will. “Let’s go,” she says quickly, and before either Hux or the blonde can properly react, Rey ushers her friends as far from the bar as possible.

“Rey, my tab,” Poe cries, and manages to push his way back toward the bar despite her best efforts.

Once they’ve finally made it outside, Finn turns to Rose, incredulous. “That…was amazing. Wasn’t it amazing, Rey?”

She barely hears him. She’s angry, seeing red, and she’s marching down the street and pulling out her phone because if Ben was there, she wanted him to know exactly what his horrible friends had just done, and even if he wasn’t there, the way he’d treated Finn so long ago, he’d been just as bad, she’s so livid she can barely see…

“To what do I owe the pleasure of this midnight phone call, scavenger?”

His voice has a hint of tiredness to it that makes Rey think that perhaps she’d woken him up, and a hint of eagerness that makes Rey think that perhaps he has fewer friends than she’d thought. There’s no background noise, no thumping beat. He hadn’t been here, after all. This information takes some of the fury out of her, and she forces herself to breathe before she speaks. “Sorry,” she says without thinking, then adds, “I’m drunk” for clarification.

“You don’t say,” Ben mutters.

His irritated tone brings some of her anger rushing back. “Your…coworkers,” she slurs, choosing her words as carefully as she can, “are assholes.”

Rey can almost feel his eye roll through the phone. “What is this, Things Everyone Knows with Rey from Nowhere?”

“ _That would be a terrible radio show_ ,” Rey spits, with a shocking amount of bite, as much as she’d intended to give him over Finn but in the wrong context. The alcohol in her system tells her this is funny, so she laughs.

Ben pauses, and then makes a strange, choked sort of sound, as if he’d wanted to laugh but forced the sound back down his throat to conceal it. Before she can comment on it, he clears his throat, puts some steel back into his voice. “This is getting old. This whole back and forth, the phone calls. Why are you doing this?”

She doesn’t know why it stings like it does. It’s a perfectly reasonable question, she thinks, especially at midnight on a Friday. “You know why.”

“No, I really don’t.” His heavy sigh is rattled somewhat by his frustration, but Ben seems to genuinely want to know. For some reason, Rey feels like her answer to this question matters more than it seems.

“I…I feel like you…” _I feel something in you. I think there’s a reason why you tolerate these conversations. “_ Han means a lot to me,” says Rey, because it is safe and easy. “And your mother…I want to help them.” _And you,_ she finally admits to herself. _I want to help you._ “I don’t understand why you hate them so much.”

Ben goes silent for an agonizingly long time. Finally, he growls, “Because they hated me.”

She should snap at him like she wanted to at first, but Rey has somehow forgotten what she was so angry about. She should tell him that Leia and Han don’t hate him, not in the slightest, but she doesn’t think he’ll believe it. Instead, Rey murmurs, “I don’t hate you.”

She means it; the honesty of the statement burns in her chest, desperate to understand, hungry for something she can’t quite name even as they snap and hiss at each other like street cats. Those little moments of play, of a feeling that flirted with camaraderie, of softness and kindness, these can’t possibly mean nothing…

“Don’t worry,” he scoffs, and she can tell he means what he says, too. “You will.”

Her heart sinks in her chest. “Ben…”

It’s too late. His end of the line goes silent, and three low beeps sound in her ear to signal that he’s well and truly gone, but she still stands on the sidewalk with her phone pressed to her ear for a while longer, biting her lip. It must be the drunkenness that brings tears to her eyes, which she stubbornly refuses to let fall.

“Rey, what did you go storming off for like that, I was worried…”

She spins around and sees Finn, Poe, and Rose, who have followed her down the street; Poe must have managed to close out his tab without incident. At the sight of her watery eyes, Finn approaches with arms outstretched, a little wobbly as he walks. “Rey, it’s okay, don’t worry about them, it’s fine. I don’t work for them anymore.”

“I know, I’m just drunk,” she replies lamely, rubbing at her eyes. “Do you want to keep this going somewhere else?”

He shakes his head. “I think I’ve had enough, honestly. Let’s head home.”

Miserably, Rey nods, disheartened by her argument with Ben and Finn’s now-ruined evening and the celebration cut short. The foursome makes their way toward the subway station. “The look on that guy’s face when Rose slapped the shit out of him, though,” says Poe wistfully, and Rey finds it in herself to snort. “I think we all have time for one more drink, huh? Just to celebrate that alone.”

Reluctantly, they’re pulled back into good spirits, ducking into one last little bar for a nightcap. For that, Rey can’t thank her friends enough.

*

In the early hours of the morning, Rey’s charging phone lights up and dings quietly on the desk beside her bed. Two minutes later, it lights up and dings again for the same reason, then falls silent for the rest of the night. She doesn’t stir. It’s not until hours later, when the sun’s harsh rays send sparks of pain to Rey’s pounding head and she wakes, that she sees the all-lowercase, five letter apology Ben sent her at 2:51 AM.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The songs referenced in this chapter are, of course, "God's Plan" by Drake and "I Like It" by Cardi B, Bad Bunny, and J Balvin. Thought it was time to switch up the music offerings. :) also I've been playing Invasion of Privacy on repeat lately...so many bangers.......wow. I'm with Poe, basically.


	6. Chapter 6

When she finally wakes up, Rey stares at her phone for entirely too long.

No one could possibly blame her, she thinks, for spending five full minutes just scrolling up and down their incredibly short text message history, landing over and over on his message from this morning.

_sorry_

It’s just so unexpected. Like opening up the Tin Man and finding that he had a working, beating heart all along.

_I’m sorry, too._

As Rose snores lightly, Rey opens up their window and is greeted by a cacophony of pedestrian conversation and slow-moving traffic. The strong, cozy scents of fenugreek and cumin already wafting up from the Indian restaurant below hit her nose and she sighs happily. All the people who passed on this apartment before them are idiots. After years of bland and lazy microwave meals from countless foster families and homes, the flavorful spice profile of Indian food quickly became one of Rey’s first favorite things.

Her belly grumbles ominously. Rey finds herself wondering if Ben has eaten anything for breakfast before recalling that she’s due at Falcon Autos in about…fifteen minutes.

As she hurriedly dresses, Rey taps out a quick message to Ben and sends it. _Outpost at noon? I have an hour lunch._ In between brushing her hair and washing her face, she adds, _Gotta make up for my drunk dial somehow._

There is a long stretch of time where nothing happens, other than Rey brushing her teeth as quickly as she possibly can to scrub the taste and smell of stale alcohol from her tongue. Then finally, her phone rings: _Busy._

Rey tries very, very hard not to feel dismayed. She frowns down at her phone all the same, then moves to pocket it, but is interrupted by another ring: _Tomorrow is better._

Full of surprises, Ben Solo is. She bites her lip, smiling. _Tomorrow it is._

*

“You’re late,” says Han with a wink as Rey enters the shop like a whirlwind, chucking her purse onto the ratty old couch behind him. “What’s that grin about, kid?”

“I am going to lunch with Ben tomorrow,” Rey chirps, beaming at Han as she puts her lunchbox in the fridge. “If you can believe it.”

His scribbling hand stills over the work order on his desk. “My Ben?”

“Mmhmm. And he’s going _willingly_ ,” she adds smugly. “I only had to twist his arm a touch. I think I’m making progress.”

It’s silly to be proud of herself for what essentially amounts to making someone’s acquaintance, but every conversation that she has with Ben that doesn’t end in a fight feels like a victory. Humming a little tune to herself, Rey shrugs off her light jacket and hangs it on the wall, then reaches for her well-worn coveralls and steps into them. It’s only when she starts lacing up her steel-toe boots that she notices Han is still watching her.

There's a moment where Han looks...happy? Relieved? But it twists in a heartbeat, his face contorting with worry and fear. The way he approaches her, arms crossed, is almost paternal.

"Be careful, sunshine."

She’d imagined a number of things that Han might say to this news, but a warning wasn’t even on her radar as an option. With a slowly dawning sense of apprehension, Rey ties off her other boot and rises to her feet.

"What? Han, what are you talking about?"

"He's got issues. Serious problems, Rey. So much like his grandfather." He looks lost, then, searching for something unnamable, until he manages to shake it off. "I should never have dragged you into this. It's okay, sunshine, you can tell him you're not interested. I'll keep you..."

"What? Safe?" she asks harshly. "This is your _son_. I thought you’d be _happy_ that I’m getting to know him. You miss him so much, you play his stupid radio program every day just to hear his voice. Why are you so afraid of this? Why aren’t you...?”

Outside of the shop, the clouds part for the sun, which streams through the glass door of the shop. Rey searches Han’s face for the answers he won’t give, eyes falling over the brightness that can’t wash out the bags under his eyes and the dark shadows that settle into the wrinkles around his eyes and mouth. What was once so murky is now clear. The harsh sunlight illuminates everything, even the things that Han doesn’t want Rey to see.

“…you didn’t think this would _actually_ go anywhere, did you?"

Han grimaces, running his thumbs over the pads of his fingers, but says nothing.

God, the tears are already prickling at the corners of her eyes. “You don’t want to reconnect with him at all.”

“That’s not true,” Han argues, too little, too late. “It’s complicated, sunshine.”

Wave after wave of memory crashes over Rey: the parents who sped off into the barren, blazing country with barely a word, every foster parent who ever looked at her like she was some desert rat that had crawled in unannounced, every foster sibling who found a family while she yearned for her own. It was supposed to be different, here. She thought that Han was different. A father who prefers to keep a safe distance from his only son feels so hauntingly familiar that Rey’s stomach churns.

He takes another step toward her, arms opening slightly, but Rey steps back. Roughly, she wipes at her eyes with the back of her hand. She’s always hated it, how quickly her eyes betray her, the way the salty tears wash over and erode her façade of strength.

"What happened with Ben?" Before he can evade her question again, she adds bitterly, “You owe me that much.”

It’s another few moments before Han sits back down, rubbing his face. With his foot, he gently pushes out the other chair beside his desk, which Rey takes as an invitation to sit.

“Ben was…very difficult as a child. Very quiet at first, but it wasn’t long before he got aggressive. He fought. All the time. Constantly suspended for this, that, or the other thing, from middle school on. Not little scuffles or scrapes, either. When he was seventeen, he nearly…” He groans, eyes far away and glassy, as if seeing something he’s desperate to forget. “He beat the absolute _shit_ out of another boy in his class. It took two resource officers to drag Ben off of the poor kid. His face…all…purple and bruised and…” Han releases a heavy, shuddering breath that becomes a gasping cough. She reaches for him but he holds up a hand, making her wait until it passes.

Rey remembers how easily the glass in Ben’s hand had shattered…but she also remembers the cold words that had come out of her mouth before he shattered it. “Why?”

Once he’s recovered, Han shrugs his shoulders. “I’m sure it was provoked somehow. Ben wasn’t well liked; he didn’t really have any friends. But who knows, really? That’s how he was at that age. Leia was able to pull some strings, so it was mostly just the fine and community service, but he couldn’t go back to school there and we couldn’t find another school where we felt comfortable sending him. Or that would take him, for that matter. So…we sent him to Luke. Back then, he was working out in California, and…”

She shakes her head, not understanding. “Wait, Luke? Who’s Luke?”

After rummaging in his desk, Han produces a picture of a smiling, bearded man on what looks like a film set, with a taller, sulking boy beside him, not looking at the camera. “Luke Skywalker. Ben’s uncle.”

*

Rey means to ask Finn about Luke Skywalker, to see if there’s any way she can speak with the mysterious director, but she’s so upset about Han’s revelation that she can’t bring herself to do much more than sulk when she finally makes it back to the apartment. Her foul mood persists all through the evening and into the next day, and it only gets worse when she gets to the Outpost for her lunch with Ben.

“No,” says the bartender the moment Rey steps through the door.

Rey blinks. “What?”

“You and your boyfriend aren’t going to waltz in here arguing and breaking shit anymore,” she sniffs, pushing her oversized (and clearly fake) glasses further up onto the bridge of her nose.  “Upsets the other patrons.”

“I’ve been coming here forever,” Rey spits, channeling all of her fury into her shaking voice. She _will not_ cry, not today, no matter how angry she is. “And that man isn’t my boyfriend.”

The bartender shrugs. “I’m not supposed to let you in.”

Exasperated, Rey pivots on her heel to leave. Everywhere she turns, it seems, there’s a new betrayal waiting for her. Why wouldn’t she get banned from her favorite bar, too? “ _Fuck_ this place,” she calls over her shoulder, “I thought Plutt was an asshole, but clearly the new management is just as –”

Just as she turns her head and reaches for the door, something – no, someone – large and muscular collides with her. Rey looks up to swear at whatever clumsy jackass just nearly bowled her over…but the jackass is familiar.

“Ben,” she breathes.

Ben gives her a nod as a greeting, his dark hair falling into his eyes as he does so. Those same brown eyes narrow suspiciously as they dart between Rey and the bartender. “We leaving already?”

“Change of plans,” Rey replies, pushing past him to get to the entrance. “This place sucks.”

“I could have told you that,” says Ben with more than a hint of arrogance. Rey rolls her eyes and storms out of the bar, Ben at her side.

They walk down the street in silence for some time. Then, Ben sighs. “You can’t go there anymore because of me.”

Rey would try to make him feel better about it, but comfort has never been her forte, and she’s still sort of fuming about the whole thing, anyway. “Yes.”

He nods a few times to himself, running his hand through his long hair and scrunching up his face. Rey thinks that maybe she’ll get another apology, but he apparently shares a few flaws with her. “Their drinks were awful.”

“Awful, but cheap,” Rey retorts.

“You can get cheap drinks anywhere.” Ben looks down at her, and Rey’s struck once again by how tall he is. She’s not a short woman by any means. She’s got a good five inches on Rose, at least, but Ben is positively huge. She supposes Han is, too, but he’s so often sitting at his desk or hunched over a car that she doesn’t notice.

“Where are we going?” Ben asks.

“I don’t know,” Rey replies, but her feet don’t agree with this answer, leading her of their own accord in the direction of Prospect Park. “Smorgasburg is at the park today.”

He snorts. “ ‘Smorgasburg’?”

“You won’t be laughing once you get there,” she warns. “It’s serious business. You’ve got to focus up.”

She’s only half-joking. Prospect Park is always busy on the weekends, but with Smorgasburg happening, it feels like half of New York is crammed into this one stretch of park. Once they arrive at the bustling street fair, Rey’s craving for Indian food is finally satisfied. She practically inhales her samosas in the time it takes Ben to get his shawarma and find her again.

“Hungry?” he asks cheekily, gesturing to the leftover wrappings. She crumples them up and throws them at his smug face. They bounce off of his nose with little fanfare; he doesn’t even flinch, which renders the whole thing rather unsatisfying. His eyes land on the wrappings again, then on Rey, a flicker of amusement hidden in their dark depths.

“Whatever.” Rey brushes the crumbs off of her chest, leaning down to pick up her trash and throw it out properly. “You gonna sit down?”

He shakes his head, looking around at the crowd only a few steps away. “Not here. A lot going on,” he explains.

The fact that this hulking, frightening-looking punk wants to avoid the crowd is so impossibly endearing that Rey can’t help but laugh. His ears burn red as she giggles, his expression darkening to match. “Come on,” she says, leading him off toward the wooded section of the park.

They settle below a great maple tree, watching as the other parkgoers wander and jog by. Off in the distance, a lone guitarist is playing somewhere, each note floating through the warmly colored leaves on the gentle breath of the wind. The whole picture is almost…normal. Pleasant, even. Their meetings always seem to go better, Rey realizes, when she’s not pushing him for answers.

Perhaps in getting to know him, she’s been taking the wrong approach.

“No questions for me today?” Ben asks, as if reading her mind.

Rey shakes her head. “You’re off the hook, this time.”

He nods slowly, chewing his last mouthful of shawarma. Once he’s swallowed it, he looks at her again, eyes burning with curiosity. “May I ask you a question?”

Quickly, Rey gives him an affirmative hum before averting her eyes. Looking at his intense expressions for too long sometimes gives her the feeling of staring directly at an eclipse of the sun.

“How did you end up working for my father?”

She fiddles with the hem of her sweater, glances off at a group of Frisbee players out on the lawn. “That was just happenstance. I was looking for work as a mechanic when I moved here, and Han’s shop was within walking distance of the apartment I’d found. I’ve always loved cars,” Rey explains, and looks over at Ben, awaiting his reaction.

He considers her in perfect silence, even at the mention of his father’s name. With a deep breath, Rey continues.

“I was always drawn to them. I dreamed of driving for ages. When I was a child…I didn’t much like being carted around. I felt like cargo, going from home to home…” Rey looks up sharply. She hadn’t meant to reveal quite so much so soon, but Ben’s expression is unchanged, without judgment or malice. “I couldn’t wait to be able to drive myself to where _I_ wanted to go.”

“Where was that?”

Hesitant, Rey glances up at the knotted maple, tracing the path of a curled branch with her eyes. “I never knew. I was too scared to leave, anyway. For the longest time, I thought...” She can’t explain it. She’s never been sure…did they really say they were coming back? Rey was so young when they left. Did she dream it once, on a lonely desert evening? Or was it a sweet little lie from a mother and father who couldn’t bear to watch their girl mourn them?

“They promised they’d come back,” she says finally, absently plucking at the grass like a child.

“Your parents.”

She doesn’t clarify any further – she can’t – and she doesn’t have to. “You’re better off without them,” Ben says with a haughty sniff, but he’s wrong. He’s so, so wrong. Rey is nothing without them; she’s never been, wandering aimlessly from family to family, job to job, with nothing but the roar of an engine and the orange flame burning bright over the horizon to keep her moving…

“Rey,” Ben murmurs, bringing her back to herself.

His hand is so close; Rey hadn’t noticed, but he’d inched it toward her as he spoke, too bold to withdraw it and too afraid to touch. Without thinking, because how can she think clearly when he’s looking at her like she’s the last life preserver on a rapidly sinking boat, Rey reaches out her hand, covers his with hers. A breeze passes them by, and Rey feels a corresponding current of emotion pass through her chest, changing something inside of her as it comes and goes. She’s certain by the look on his face that Ben feels it, too. That a man so cold, so strange, so lonely could warm to her so easily as this, and she to him…it feels like destiny. It feels like _home_.

“Friends?” Rey asks, suddenly, involuntarily, breathlessly.

She can just barely feel his fingers curl below her palm as his dark eyes widen with gratitude.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR SUPPORT!!!!!!!! Y'all are wayyyyy too good to me :D
> 
> No songs in this one (the park guitarist is probably playing an acoustic cover of Logic's EVERYDAY or some shit lol) but I listened to "Bloom" by The Paper Kites a lot writing the last sequence. Much like the staff at the Outpost, I am perpetually trying to cultivate a chill vibe. :) and the lyrics are so sweet!
> 
> I haven't gotten a chance to catch up on all of your comments but I have read them and I appreciate all of them so so much!!!! <3 I'll respond as soon as I can! I'm also looking into compiling the songs into a concrete space so y'all can listen to them all. Spotify or iTunes? I primarily use iTunes but I have no problem with Spotify if that's what most of you use.
> 
> Finally, on that music note (heh) I'm sure I don't need to tell you all this, but I want to direct all of you who love these kinds of music-related fics to Like_A_Dove's amazing fic "we could plant a house, we could build a tree" which I have bookmarked. There's not much plot similarity between our fics but I was definitely inspired to let myself use and reference so much music in this fic because of that one. It's amazing!!!! :)
> 
> Once again, THANK YOU FOR READING <3 y'all are the best!


	7. Chapter 7

Poe loves to run on the Brooklyn Bridge first thing in the morning, and before the invitation he extended to her today, Rey didn’t get it. Rey normally _hates_ the Brooklyn Bridge; it’s touristy, and always packed with selfie-sticks and walkers in the bike lane and crowds that stop in front of her on a dime. But it’s totally different for an early morning run, when the orange and pinks of the sunrise are beginning to paint the dark sky in shades both striking and muted, as if the sun itself is still a little groggy from sleep. It’s embarrassing to admit, but Rey still likes to stop and watch the water as much as she did when she first moved here, back when she really was just a desert rat with no prospects and no potential.

There’s one or two Instagram models taking advantage of the early morning light over the bridge, and a few tourists who probably Googled the best time to walk the bridge and avoid others like themselves, but apart from that, it’s early enough that there’s hardly anyone here. She and Poe jog their way down the old wooden pathway leisurely, as she follows each beam and cable with her eyes, up and down and over to carry her across the river. Rey tells herself that taking it slow will let them walk back home instead of taking the subway from here, but she knows the Metrocard tucked into her armband will be seeing the light of day the moment they’re done.

Well, not the light of day. The artificial light of the underground.

She loves her shiny, big new home, but Rey wishes that it were just a bit smaller, more walkable. Or even drivable, because truth be told, she’s not crazy about the subway. Flagstaff, as hot and bright as it was, had never managed even at its worst to keep her from craving the outdoors.

It’s not just the conditions of the subway, though, the dirt and the people packed in close enough to be touching but desperately pretending like they aren’t. It’s the structure, and the timetables, and the changing lines. It’s not as easy to leave at a moment’s notice when you’re not sure the train you need is even running, let alone on time. She misses having a car, the ability to throw the few belongings you have into the back and chase the horizon.

But she doesn’t much want to run away anymore. She has her family now, in Finn and Poe and Rose, and her steady adult job, and her tiny, wonderful apartment and…

And Ben.

She can add Ben onto the list now, right? Is it odd that she wants to?

Rey doesn’t understand why, but something about their situation makes it seem like she and Ben are moving terribly fast. Towards what, she isn’t sure. But Rey doesn’t think she cares if she’s being honest with herself. Even that strange, uncertain future, she doesn’t want to run from. So maybe it is odd, but does it really matter?

“Hey, Rey?”

Rey stops, looks at Poe properly for the first time since they left the apartment. She totally lost track of time. They must have been out for a while; Poe’s bangs are wet enough to start to stick to his forehead. “You all right? You looked…I don’t know. Different.”

“Runner’s high,” she breathes, trying not to think about what Ben would look like all sweaty and well-exercised first thing in the morning.

“I didn’t know dreamy eyes were a symptom of having a runner’s high.”

Rey _tried_ not to think about it. Obviously she failed, because the words that just came out of Poe’s mouth don’t make sense together. “Huh?”

“Uh-huh.” He quirks up an eyebrow at her. “Ready to head back?”

She’s not, really, but she nods, and they make their way to the end of the bridge. It’s not until they get to the entrance to the subway station that Poe finally says, “Also, Finn told me you’re seeing my boss’s son, so this whole lying thing you’re doing? Unnecessary.”

“Oh my God, I’m not _seeing_ …wait.” Rey gapes at Poe. “Leia is your boss?”

“And Ben’s an old friend. Well, former friend. We didn’t keep in touch after they sent him to his uncle, and apparently he continued to be a piece of shit even after he came back, so.” He shrugs and swipes his Metrocard, passing through the turnstile.

She knows, objectively, that Ben has said and done cruel things to many people, including herself. But the flippant tone of Poe’s voice and the phantom feeling of Ben’s hand in hers that she swears she’s felt for days sends Rey into an immediate, flying rage. “Don’t talk about him like that,” she hisses, swiping her Metrocard too quickly and aggressively to be read. In her anger, she doesn’t notice, and walks directly into the unmoving turnstile at full speed.

As Rey groans and swipes her Metrocard more deliberately, Poe flashes a triumphant grin her way. “Sorry. I’ll try to be more careful what I say about your boyfriend next time…”

The look she throws back at him is _murderous_ , and so in blatant disregard of all New York and public transit etiquette, Poe breaks into a run the moment Rey gets through the turnstile.

*

Han’s still not back from his late lunch, and pretty soon, they’ll have another pair of appointments in. As talented as she is as a mechanic, Rey can’t work on more than one car by herself. She’s tried, for sure, and she’s been able to work fast enough at times to trick customers into thinking they’ve got a full staff on hand. But she’d rather not.

What’s more, it’s _hot_ , which cuts down on everyone’s patience. There’s been a bit of a heat wave in these last days of September; they’ve turned the overhead fan back on, and it spins lazily above the Falcon’s patrons in a half-hearted effort to cool the room. Out in the lobby, Rey’s had to replace the water jug for the customers more than once already this week, and fielded multiple requests for air conditioning that she didn’t quite know how to answer other than by gesturing at the barely functional fan and giving an apologetic shrug.

She’s starting to worry that perhaps she’s going to have to start trying to properly manage the lobby and shop all on her own, when she looks through the sliding glass window that separates the shop and the lobby and sees Han walking in through the front door with something massive in tow.

“Hey, sunshine!”

Rey slides the window open further so that she can poke her head through. “What?”

He’s rolled in with an absolutely gigantic, ancient dog, which lights up at the sight of her and bounds as best he can toward her. Once the dog reaches the open window, he leaps up onto his back paws and sets his massive front paws onto the ledge, his joyous howl more of a warbling groan than anything else.

“Hello, Chewie,” she croons, reaching out to rub behind the dog’s ears and earning herself another groan of approval. Chewie’s a big enough dog that he matches Rey in height once he’s up on two paws instead of four, and Rey’s not a short woman by any means. The customer whose cabin air filter she’s in the middle of changing gives a loud “awwww” as she looks up from her phone. Rey breathes a little sigh of relief, grateful for the woman’s slightly improved mood and the extra few minutes to work that mood shift will give her.

Smiling, she runs her slender fingers through his shaggy brown fur. She knows Chewie’s been brought in as a peace offering, for lack of a better term; she can tell by the way Han shuffles from side to side, waiting for her response to this. Truth be told, Rey’s not even sure how she should respond. She’s still upset with him, but she truly doesn’t have the emotional energy to keep it up all the time. How _does_ Ben do it, hold onto anger with an almost reverent desperation, like it’s the rope keeping him from tumbling down the mountain…

“He’s the best dog in the entire world,” Rey declares, more for the dog than for Han. As she pets Chewie, she notices more gray fur than the last time she’d seen him. “How old is he, again?”

“Oh, geez, I couldn’t tell you,” Han replies pensively, scratching at his head. “Had him for ages. Maybe even before Ben was born, I can’t really remember.”

Rey snaps her head up in disbelief. Ben has to be pushing thirty, at least, and she’s never known a dog of any size to live longer than fifteen years. And Chewie is _huge_ ; whatever breed he is, he can’t possibly have been expected to live to be older than ten. “There’s no way.”

But Han shakes his head, pulls out a dusty old picture from his wallet and sure enough, there’s baby Ben, tugging at the shaggy mane of an exasperated-looking dog identical to the one before her. Ben’s cheeks are chubby and red, and even at that young age, he’s already got a shock of his now luxurious dark hair. The dog is several times baby Ben’s size but it’s clear even in the picture that he wouldn’t harm a hair on Ben’s head, judging by the aggressive way Ben tugs at the fur and the only mildly irritated expression that the dog wears, the protective positioning of his enormous paws around the baby’s body.

But he wasn’t even a _puppy_ then. That, too, is a full grown dog. Which means there is only one explanation for this…

“That’s a different dog.”

Han wearily shakes his head at her, as if she’s not the first person who dared to doubt this glorious dog’s longevity. “Nah, sunshine, that’s him.”

She looks at the picture, then looks at Chewie, who can’t defend himself with words but gives another low moan of a howl anyway. “You’re lying,” Rey replies, though she believes him more by the second.

“Why would I lie about the age of my dog?”

“Are you sure he’s even a dog?” she asks, mock inspecting the ears that are positively buried under a mass of fur and moving to peel an eye open further, to which Chewie replies with a warning groan. She’s never heard a dog make a sound like that in her life. If a Sasquatch had a distinctive noise, she’s positive that would be it. “I don’t think he’s a dog, Han. Are you _quite_ certain he’s a dog?”

“I’m not,” he admits, considering the animal fondly as he pants up at Han. “He might be part bear, or something. He was a rescue, so I honestly have no idea.”

“You’re something better than a dog,” Rey says confidently as she scratches behind his ears. “You’re something much, much better.”

Han grins approvingly, but breathes deeply through his nose, looking at Rey with such regret that she has to look away.

“So,” he begins, rubbing at the back of his neck. “About yesterday…”

She realizes suddenly that she’s not quite ready for him to apologize to her, because she’s not sure she can accept it yet. “I appreciate this,” Rey says before he can finish, gesturing to Chewie, and he smiles softly, thankfully lets it go. Forgiven, but not forgotten.

“Alright then, back to work, sunshine,” Han says with a wink, and walks back around the desk with Chewie to get to the shop door.

Rey feigns offense. “Me, back to work? I’ve _been_ working. _You_ need to get back to work.”

“Hey,” he warns playfully, pointing at her as he enters the shop, “rope in that attitude, missy.”

It’s getting close to three, so Han ducks briefly into his office to change the radio station as Chewie lumbers over to the other car in the garage and sits down. Rey can’t help thinking of Ben as Chewie blinks at her; she can’t believe he actually grew up with the same dog his whole life, it’s positively unheard of. Just like Han and Leia, Chewie had watched Ben become a man. A moody, strange, terribly handsome man.

Is it weird that Rey wants to call him?

They’re friends now. Calling a friend is normal. Completely chill. She goes to pull up his contact information, forgetting for a moment that he’s still listed as “Han’s Angry Son” in her phone; Rey _really_ needs to change that.

“Rey?”

Ben picked up barely halfway through the first ring. It takes Rey a second to register this and reply. “Hi, Ben.”

“Aren’t you at work? What is it?” The suspicion in his voice makes Rey’s stomach turn, just a little. “Is someone there, or…something?”

“No, no. Just…saying hi.” _Why_ is this embarrassing? Thank God Ben can’t see her; she has to be tomato red by the way her face feels.

“Oh. Sorry,” he says hastily, almost like he’s worried he’s done something wrong. “I’m not really used to people, um…”

“It’s fine,” Rey replies, fighting down her blush successfully before changing the subject. “Are you going to play something nice for us today?”

He makes a little noise of disapproval, and they’re back to normal; Rey barely resists breathing a sigh of relief. “Nice isn’t the same as good.”

“Why can’t a song be both?”

“It _can,”_ Ben retorts, and Rey can tell he’s irritated but now it’s more endearing than anything else. “It just doesn’t have to be pleasant to be good.”

“Clearly,” she agrees, and he huffs with an air of frustration into the receiver.

“What would you have me play?”

Rey pauses, thinks about it for a moment. “Something classic. And fun. Elton John,” she suggests. “Crocodile Rock.”

“ _Good Lord, Rey_ ,” he moans, exasperated. She wonders if he’s pinching the bridge of his long nose, or running his large hands through his hair. “First of all, that’s just about the worst Elton John song there is.”

“I _like_ Crocodile Rock,” mumbles Rey.

“Taupin himself said he wouldn’t listen to it on his own time,” Ben says, and before Rey can unpack whatever that means, he adds, “And if you’re going to pick a piano man, at least pick the right one. Joel’s obviously the better of the two.”

She gasps theatrically. “Ben! An opinion about a genre other than punk?!”

“I didn’t come by it willingly,” Ben replies curtly.

Rey looks over at Han, at the yellowing seventies music festival poster over his desk that curls at the corners. “But you _did_ come by it honestly.”

“I suppose,” he agrees, but there’s a bit of a bite to his words, and Rey drops the subject. They’d been having a nice conversation, and while Ben normally charges on through to ruin it when she mentions his family, he doesn’t seem to want to today. Rey is more than happy to take what she can get.

Ben sighs, and then lets a bit of a groan slip. “I think I ought to get back to work, it’s almost three. Who knows what Hux will say about me if I give him a chance to man the airwaves alone?”

“Probably nothing he wouldn’t say to your face,” Rey says with a smile.

“Truer words,” he agrees, and there’s a strange, pregnant pause in which Rey realizes they have never said a proper goodbye to each other over the phone.

“I, uh…I can hang up if you’d like,” Ben continues awkwardly, having come to the same conclusion.

The belly laugh that escapes Rey is unexpected, wonderful; it bounces off the walls of the shop and fills the space with her joy. Han looks over at her, confused, before shaking his head and turning back to his own work. “I think we’re ready for a goodbye,” Rey says reassuringly. “Unless you don’t think we can handle it.”

Ben hesitates another moment, before finally murmuring, “Goodbye, Rey.”

She can hear the smile in his voice, and it melts her heart. “Goodbye, Ben.”

She hangs up, taking the time to change his contact name to “Ben” before packing her phone away with a grin and, surprisingly, a blush that just won’t quit. Before she has time to process the flush of her cheeks, the clock strikes three, and The Finalizer begins.

_My word, Kylo, is that a good mood you’re sporting today?_

_It might have been. I can’t be sure now that you’re here, I didn’t get much time to enjoy it._

_A pity. For you, anyway._

_I would ask if you honestly prefer me miserable, Hux, but I don’t believe I need to. The perverted grin on your face is enough._

_You’re more predictable that way. God only knows what a **happy** Kylo is capable of._

_As long as I’m working here with you, we’ll never know. Welcome, everyone, to the First Order on this scorcher of a Wednesday afternoon, you’re rocking with the crew of the Finalizer, we’ll start things off with It’ll Be a Long Time, The Offspring…_

Rey thinks it might be pride in her ability to cheer Ben up that inspires her to take one last pause in her work and shout across the shop, “Hey, Han?”

“Sunshine?” he calls back, not looking up from the open hood of the car he’s working on.

She pokes her head up over her own car, trying to get a good look at him. “Elton John or Billy Joel?”

Han makes a dismissive grunt. “Billy Joel. Elton’s fine, but not really my thing. Flashy,” he adds, waving a hand vaguely. “Not the good kind of flashy, either. Joel’s got _real_ style.” With this final word, he looks up at Rey suspiciously. “Why?”

“Ben thinks so, too.”

Rey watches curiously as Han’s face twists and turns, unsure of itself, eyes darkening with a sad nostalgia, lips quirking up with pride. “Well, he better,” he retorts gruffly, and turns back to the car before him. Rey’s not sure, but she thinks she sees a smile on Han’s face. It _might_ be because of Chewie obediently giving him the correct wrench from his toolbox, but screw it. She’ll take responsibility for Han’s cheering up, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I HAVE RETUUUUUUUURNED!
> 
> Sorry for the late update!! I had a family emergency that prevented me from going to my regular job, let alone writing. (But everything's okay now!) The next chapter is already half done, so fingers crossed that the next update will be MUCH, much quicker. 
> 
> Also, as a fun little bonus in part because I took so long to update this piece, I've posted a teaser for the piece I'll likely take up after this one. It is a canonverse Rapunzel/Tangled AU. So stealing plot elements from Tangled, including "moody royal kidnapped as a baby by a crumbly old person for his power", "orphan raised as a smuggler/thief", and "street festival where the royal and thief finally fall in love," but ALMOST IN CANON and therefore IN SPACE. I've labeled it pretty clearly as a teaser, so don't expect that story to update until after this one is done!


	8. Chapter 8

That weekend, bright and early, Rose is seated on the couch nursing a cup of tea. Rey sits down beside her and says, as casually as she can manage, “So, I saw your show’s on Netflix now, I was thinking…”

“D’you want to watch it with me?!” Rose cries, ecstatic, and Rey gives a little snort before nodding. “We can get through it all by dinner if we start now.”

Rose moves like she’s an athlete who’s trained for this her whole life; it only takes Rose all of two minutes to scrounge up some blankets, start popcorn, and get the program up on their television. “He only made _one season_ ,” says Rose, still so in awe even after having seen the program God knows how many times. “It was so critically acclaimed, all his investors insisted he find a way to keep going, but he just said, ‘The story I wanted to tell is ended,’ and that was that. He could have made so much more money, but he’s an _auteur_ , Rey. His artistic integrity is like…whoa.”

Rey can’t help thinking that sounds an awful lot like something Ben would do. If he were an artist like that, that is. Had he intended to be, at one point? Had he looked up to his uncle, or sulked and seethed the entire time they were in California? She might have to start writing down her questions for Luke Skywalker.

“What do you think?” Rey asks, tossing one of the butter-drenched kernels into her mouth. “Do you wish there were more?”

Rose sighs, as if she has thought on this very serious question many times. “No, he was right. He just…nailed it. No mainstream director has ever got what happened in Vietnam quite like Skywalker,” Rose muses, transfixed by the opening sequence, which is set to a mournful female cover of “Fortunate Son”. “He looks at every angle, but he was especially careful about the way he portrayed the Vietnamese civilians. People like my grandparents, whose land was _ravaged_ , who just wanted the bombings to end. Caught between the US and the Viet Cong. Screwed or dead either way.”

Rey had been content to just listen to Rose speak as the opening sequence’s gravity washed over them both, but the moment she mentions her grandparents, Rey looks up just in time to see Rose’s eyes go a little glassy, the sheen of her tears building at the corners of her eyes. At a loss for words, Rey rests a hand on Rose’s shoulder and squeezes gently. She wishes she were better at comfort, but Rey knows best how to _protect_ …and no matter how good she’s gotten at defending herself and others, she can’t fight off the ghosts of the past.

“Skywalker didn’t have to do it, like, focus so much on the human cost of war.” At this, Rose’s voice cracks and she sniffles. She clutches gently at the half moon pendant she always wears, the one whose other half lies cold against her sister’s bones, so far beneath the ground. “He would have gotten the ratings either way. I mean, he’s _Skywalker_. But he made sure that you’re constantly confronting what was really happening there. I felt…seen. By a white male director, who could have made himself a ton of money doing anything at all.” And there, in spite of her pain, she smiles so brightly that Rey can’t help smiling, too. “It’s definitely not perfect, but you can tell he did his homework. That he _cares_. And that means a lot.”

Rey beams. “He sounds like a good man,” she murmurs, squeezing Rose’s shoulder one last time. _They all are such good people,_ Rey thinks, _and even if they’re not perfect, they couldn’t possibly have been so terrible to Ben that it warranted estrangement…could they?_ She’s growing less sure of herself by the day, certain that something about the Organa-Solos doesn’t click but unable to find the source of the problem.

“Well, we don’t know for sure how good a man Skywalker is,” says Rose with a dark grin, wiping away the last of her tears. “He _does_ work in entertainment.”

“ _I_ work in entertainment,” pouts Finn, emerging from his room as the girls giggle.

“You’re the exception to just about every rule there is, Finn,” says Rey sweetly. “Wanna come watch with us?”

Finn shakes his head, closing the last button on his button-down and somehow not noticing the way Rose’s eyes widen when he starts adjusting his tie. “Meeting with the DP and the rest of the camera crew. Got a lot of stuff to work out before we start shooting.”

“You’ve gotta tell us _everything_ when you get back,” Rose implores him.

Another cocky little smirk; Rey’s thrilled that Finn has something to be so proud of. “Definitely.”

“Good luck, peanut,” Rey calls as Finn grabs his messenger bag from its place beside the doorframe. He gives a false, dramatic little bow before softly closing the front door.

Poe pokes his head out every so often to tease them or grab food, but the girls are largely able to get through the series uninterrupted, a fact for which Rey turns out to be immensely grateful. _33_ is everything Rose says it is and more; a sweeping, intelligent drama following the lives of several individuals chosen in or impacted by the draft lottery on December 1 st, 1969 onward through the war, as well as glimpses into civilian life in both the US and Vietnam. Rey _gets_ her hero worship of him now. The series is deeply moving, a web of complex characters and harsh truths that guts Rey more often than she’d care to admit. And, as is becoming increasingly more common each time she interacts with a member of his family, she sees Ben everywhere she looks.

She sees him most of all in the father of one of the show’s lead characters: a conflicted, dying war general on the brink of madness. Rey sees Ben in the man’s temper, in his intensity, in his unexpected moments of tenderness. Even at his worst, there is empathy and light built into every shot he’s in, as the camera captures him with a mysterious and lonely sort of love.

“Skywalker has never confirmed it,” whispers Rose, the first time the general breaks down on screen, “but everyone thinks that the general is based on his father. He was a POW in the Korean War and…well, I guess brainwashed with Communist and authoritarian ideology. They say he was never the same.”

Rey only nods, cocoons herself deeper into the plush blankets as Han’s voice echoes in her head. _He’s got issues. Serious problems, Rey. So much like his grandfather…_

If Rose’s assessment is correct, that seems like a rather harsh comparison on Han’s part, but she’d made it too, hadn’t she? Without realizing? Ben may be intense and difficult sometimes, but he’s certainly not a mad old war general. At least…Rey doesn’t _think_ so. Though she’s not sure anything would truly surprise her about Ben at this point.

When Finn returns, they’re almost to the end, Rose and Rey curled tightly together and sobbing into each other’s shoulders.

“You guys get through the whole thing?” Finn asks before he can properly glance at them, wincing once he sees their tear-streaked faces. “Oof, sorry. Don’t mind me.”

“Not yet,” replies Rey, wiping a stray tear from her cheek and sniffling loudly. “Rose had to keep pausing it to explain stuff.”

Rose huffs. “ _Important_ background information.”

Although some of it had certainly been enlightening, Rey doesn’t know if she’d say that Luke Skywalker’s preferred brand of coffee is important, per se. But she’s never been all that interested in actors and film and “the biz”, so perhaps it is and she just doesn’t know it.

“How did your meeting go?” asks Rose, twisting around and hurriedly trying to clean herself up. It only half works; she’s snot-free, at least, but her puffy red eyes can’t be helped.

Finn beams. “Excellent. It was really, really good. We’ve got a solid schedule started, I think we’re in pretty good shape…”

“When do you actually start on set?” Rey asks innocently.

“Two weeks…” Finn frowns at her, automatically in tune to her falsely sweet tone. “...why?”

Playing coy isn’t going to work for her, not with Finn, so Rey goes immediately to the only other thing she knows: bluntness. “Because I have questions for him.”

“I…um…” Finn’s eyes suddenly widen. “You think I’m just going to walk you on set?”

Rey, utterly oblivious to the workings of film, shrugs.

“I can’t just bring you along to work with me, Rey, are you crazy?”

Family and friends wander into Han’s office all the time, and while Rey understands completely that a film set is different, she also…doesn’t. “There has to be something you can get me into. A lunch break, or maybe we can get coffee, or something.”

“You’re out of your mind.”

Finn’s trying his damnedest to lose Rey as she follows him through the apartment; unfortunately, he’s only got about four rooms to choose from, none of which are large enough to have proper hiding spots. “But I need to talk to Luke Skywalker,” insists Rey.

“Don’t we all,” sighs Rose, regarding the paused credits sequence on their television screen with a grave seriousness.

Gesturing helplessly at his roommates, Finn ducks into the bathroom and closes the door.

“I just help with the camera work,” he explains through the door, “I don’t have any sort of, I don’t know, creative control, really? I don’t work with him as directly as you’d think, so I can’t just _ask him_ to meet a friend…”

And then a wave of inspiration comes to her, born of years of skulking around places where she shouldn’t have been to get to things she desperately needed. “…do you have to ask?”

At this, Finn swings the door open, regarding Rey as he would a feral madwoman. His bug-eyed expression nearly sends Rey into a fit of giggles. “Are you insane? You want me to _sneak you onto the set_?”

“Yes.”

“That’s… _that’s not how this works_.” Finn looks as though she’s struck him. “Rey, I’m really serious.”

She looks into her peanut’s dark eyes, concerned and confused as he considers her, and Rey has no choice but to relent. “Seriousness accepted.” She returns to her spot beside Rose, who looks aghast that Rey would give up a chance to meet Luke Skywalker so easily.

But realistically, she knows it was unreasonable to think that Finn could sneak her on set somehow. This is his biggest job so far, and Rey won’t make him risk losing it for anything, not even…whatever is happening with her and Ben. But she feels like Luke Skywalker is the last, key piece of the puzzle that is the Organa-Solo family, and Rey has to meet with him somehow…

And then, for the second time, an idea strikes her, so outrageously simple that Rey can’t believe it didn’t come to her before.

Rey twists around and leans over the back of the couch. “Hey, Poe? Can you give me Leia’s number?”

*

Not an hour later, her phone rings, but it’s not Leia calling her back; it’s her son. For a wild moment, she thinks perhaps he’s found out what she’s doing, before remembering that he doesn’t speak to either of his parents.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Rey.”

“Hi.” She purses her lips, waiting for whatever it is Ben’s called her for.

“I…” He clears his throat, and the person who speaks next is all Radio Host Kylo, coolly confident and darkly smooth. “What are you doing tonight? I’d like to take you out.”

He’s never taken this tone with her, always either aggressive or gentle, but there’s a teasing promise of things to come in the low rumble of his voice, and Rey finds that she _does not mind_. “Oh! Uh…”

“You’re under no obligation,” he assures her, and that touch of Ben’s softness laces the words. “I only wanted to extend the offer.”

“No! No, I’d love to go. Where were you thinking?”

“Manhattan Cricket Club,” Ben answers, “It’s a spot I’m rather fond of on the Upper West Side. I’ve made reservations for eight; I’ll pick you up at seven.” Here he falters, but only for a moment. “Wear something nice.”

Her heart sinks. Though she’s intrigued by the prospect of a place that Ben frequents—she’s under the impression that Ben is somewhat out of place everywhere he goes, so she’s not pegged him as the type to be a “regular” anywhere—having to dress nicely for a fussy-sounding bar in Manhattan spells disaster for her wallet and her confidence in equal measure. Nevertheless, she gets on her hands and knees and starts rummaging through her closet, looking for her least beaten up pair of flats. “Okay, yeah, sure. Wow…wait, you made reservations before you knew I was going with you? What if I’d been busy?”

“It wouldn’t have been a problem. I’m quite comfortable going out alone, but…I hoped you wouldn’t be,” he admits sheepishly.

_That’s_ a Solo strategy if ever she’s heard one. How many times has she heard from Han that he “hasn’t worked out the details, but it’s all gonna come together, sunshine”? Apparently, at least part of the reason that Ben and Han don’t get along is that they’re exactly the same.

“Fortunately for you, I’m rarely busy.”

“I’d gotten that impression.”

The smarmy way in which he says it makes her roll her eyes. “Your powers of seduction are unparalleled.”

His side of the line goes deadly silent. “ _Deduction_ ,” Rey corrects, flushing from head to toe. “Clearly, you’ve had me pegged from the beginning.”

But as much as she wishes she could have caught her words before they left her mouth, Rey’s subconscious is definitely on the right track. He _has_ to be trying to seduce her. Or “Pretty Woman” her, or something. Either way, they’ve been moving approximately a mile a minute; it couldn’t have been more than a month ago that she was ready to murder him at the Outpost, and here she is pulling out a dress— _a dress!_ —on a Saturday evening and waiting for him to _pick her up_.

As if he can hear her thoughts, Ben suddenly says, “You don’t have to…there’s no pressure to, um…this isn’t a date.”

This blatant lie actually stops her mid-step. Or does he have a different idea of dating than everyone else? “Huh?” Rey blurts out inelegantly.

“Too much,” he says softly to himself, as if he’s forgotten she’s on the line, but the next time he speaks is for her. “I, ah, never apologized properly for taking your favorite bar from you, so I thought I’d take you to mine. But it has a dress code, which is why I asked you to dress nicely. Perhaps I’ve been misleading. I’ve been told I have a…” Ben sighs, exasperated. “…‘flair for the dramatic.’ ”

Between his earnest tone and his gently self-deprecating assessment of his own behavior, Rey realizes Ben is actually telling the truth. That doesn’t bother her anywhere near as much as the sudden realization that she wishes he weren’t.

“If you’re uncomfortable…”

Rey shakes her head, brushing off some of BB’s hair from the simple green dress she’s selected. “No. Not at all. I’ll see you at seven.”

“I’ll see you at seven,” Ben repeats as a goodbye, and she hangs up.

She’s a clumsy make-up artist, so Rey stays in her pajamas as she does her hair and make-up so as not to cover her poor dress in powder. The entire time she gets ready, Rey endures alternating wolf-whistles from Poe and warnings from Finn that she does her best to ignore. Because she’s got nothing to worry about anymore; Ben assured her it’s a no-pressure situation, he’s just so utterly _extra_ that he can’t help things seeming like more than they are.

Despite her racing mind, Rey does a pretty good job of ignoring her housemates until she goes to put on her dress, and the zipper on the pretty but cheap dress catches on something, an errant string from the zipper seam _. It would be nice to be able to afford clothes that don’t fall apart in the wash_ , she thinks as she tries to force the zipper up, then back down, both to no avail.

And then their apartment’s buzzer goes off. “Rey?” calls Rose.

Of course he’s early. Of course he didn’t inherit Han’s leisurely approach to time. Why would he be anything but early? “Yeah?”

Rose sounds unsure of what to do. “I think it’s Ben. Should I…”

“ _Wait,_ ” shouts Rey from their bedroom, just as Poe exclaims, “By all means, buzz him up, Rose.”

She’s not going to get to the door in time, God damn this zipper. Rey tugs at it helplessly until the caught string finally snaps and, mercifully, she can zip it the rest of the way. But she’s pulling on her flats and halfway out of the bedroom when she hears the front door open.

“Solo! Long time no see!”

When she makes it out to the living room, Poe is beaming just a little too brightly, practically baring his teeth, and Finn looks as though he’s ready to jump from the nearest window. And in her doorway… _in her doorway_.

Standing in her doorway is Ben, who looks entirely too handsome to have any business in this building. He’s dressed smartly, but not pretentiously, entirely in black. His hair cannot truly be tamed, she’s determined, but the way his impossibly soft looking locks frame his face in the dim light is outrageously flattering, bordering on obscene. After blinking several times and narrowing his eyes at Poe, then spotting Finn in the kitchen, Ben turns to Rey and asks, “Is there anyone in your life _not_ associated with me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another long wait; sorry, y'all!!! Unfortunately, the wait you experienced is probably going to be more typical, as I've just started school. This story will get done!! But it's going to go a little more slowly than I want. As usual, I'd rather give you something I'd want to read as opposed to cranking out chapters quickly. Some people are adept at doing both, and I applaud and love them for it! I'm just not one of those people.
> 
> The "mournful female cover" of "Fortunate Son" that opens Luke's miniseries is by Cat Power, and his statement on the story he wanted to tell being ended was accidentally but lovingly stolen in sentiment from diasterisms's "ghostwalks (gin and fog)" which is one of my absolute favorite fics for this fandom.
> 
> Manhattan Cricket Club is a real speakeasy on the Upper West Side; Ben is pretty "extra", as Rey says, and the more subdued and dark atmosphere suits him, so I think it would be right up his alley. Normies like the rest of us can't make reservations, but members can. :)


End file.
